


All Whispers Know Where Whispers Go

by AdvisedPanic



Series: Here There Be Dragons [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence, Canon Mind Control, Here there be dragons, Infinity Stones, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Other, Some hand-wavy magic explanations, Suicide mention, The Nine Realms, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a dragon rider, Vignettes, mind meddling but the good kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdvisedPanic/pseuds/AdvisedPanic
Summary: Tony Stark enters a cave in Afghanistan with shrapnel in his heart and a compromised rib cage. He leaves it with a suit of armor and a dragon hatchling.*Or: the one in which Tony Stark accidentally hatches a dragon that should have been extinct, makes friends with a Norse god, and somehow gets caught up in a universal spring-cleaning led by some guy with a rock collection.





	1. Baby Girl's Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea came about because I've been thinking about Eragon too much recently and have been having ""feelings,"" so there's that. It's mostly a project for me in getting back into writing, but I figured someone else might enjoy it, and here we are.
> 
> This chapter is just the prologue, so buckle up, y'all. Also I wrote this in like three days and have barely considered posting it so here goes nothing;;;;;;;
> 
> The title comes from part II of a poem by Phillip Nikolayev called "A Midsummer Night's Stroll."

When Tony Stark looks to his left and sees a Stark missile, armed and seconds from killing him, he doesn’t think his life can get any weirder, any more shocking.

He’s wrong.

The world—destiny, fate, God, what-the-fuck-ever—sure does love to fuck with him.

*

The terrorists drag him and Yinsen out of the cave, into blinding sunlight. Their entire camp is filled with Stark weapons, brimming with the products of Tony’s two hands. It takes every ounce of his control to keep his knees from buckling with the sudden weight of realization and innocent lives lost.

Their leader asks him to build him a Jericho, promises to let him go.

Tony shakes his hand, agrees with a private acknowledgement of impending death with Yinsen. One of the terrorists hands the one he’s dealt with—Bakaar?—a box, locked with a heavy duty iron lock. It looks like an old chest, heavy and protected, with metal rivets and dark wood. And then, he begins to speak, and Yinsen carefully translates.

“We have an artifact of great value,” he says, as the box is unlocked. “Because you are who you are, Mr. Stark, we know you can aid us. We…” even Yinsen falls quiet as Bakaar opens the chest and reveals a rock in the shape of an egg nestled amongst thick cloth. It’s the color of honeyed amber, iridescent in the Afghan sun, shifting into tones of bronze and green between the scaly nooks. It looks like an intricately carved stone and is about the size of an oblong volleyball.

Tony blinks at it.

“We…require your aid in hatching this dragon of ours,” Yinsen continues, quietly, staring at the _egg_ with awe in his voice. “Break this creature free, and you shall earn your freedom as well.”

Tony looks up. Swallows. He accepts the egg with quivering hands. “Sure thing,” he says, with a taut, splintering smile.

When they’re back in their makeshift workshop, staring at the egg from under one of two lamps they have, Yinsen asks him, “Do you know how to hatch a dragon?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony replies. “I studied engineering, not fucking _dragons_.”

“Wonderful,” Yinsen replies.

*

Here’s the thing.

Earth has known dragons since before fish crawled out of the oceans, squalling onto green land. They were creatures of magic, something that ancient civilizations worshiped and feared in equal measure. There is irrefutable evidence they once existed--dragon fossils are hooked up right beside the T-Rex in museums around the world--but for all intents and purposes, they were extinct.

Tony didn’t really know shit about dragons. There was this rumor that a dragon sleeps in the mountains of New Zealand (Tibet?...Might be Taiwan, though) and is never to be disturbed, but there's no video evidence of anything like a massive lizard sleeping in caves, so Tony doesn't believe it. So, no, Tony doesn’t know anything about dragons. He knows the bedtime stories, the legends. But he doesn’t know facts. He doesn’t know how to hatch an egg that may as well have been carved from rock for all he knew.

But if these terrorists had given it to him, it meant that they thought it was a legitimate egg. They wanted a dragon just as much as they wanted a Jericho missile. Which is—terrifying, if you think about it. A terror group with a dragon, that could (supposedly) fly faster than a 747, camouflage into any environment, control minds, wield magic, _and_ shoot magic fire from its mouth? Hell no.

And if Tony isn’t going to give them a missile? There’s no fucking way he’s handing them an impressionable, infant dragon.

Tony sets the egg by his cot and tries to sleep for his four-hour nap, a shift that Yinsen insisted on. He won’t try to hatch the egg and cite some mystical bullshit that hopefully won’t earn his head a place in a water bucket again. Then he and Yinsen will escape with the egg so they won’t be able to force anyone else. Plan decided, Tony turns towards the egg and falls asleep watching the light from his new arc reactor dance and shimmer on its surface.

*

Turns out, Tony’s tidy little plan goes to shit four days into construction of the suit. That’s when they huddle over the egg, blocked strategically from the camera’s view, and watch the egg rock and splinter into dozens of thin cracks. As it does, they listen to the mewling, chirping creature inside move and wriggle.

Sometime—after their first meal but long before the nightly check-in—the egg splits in two, with one tremendous heave.

Tony Stark and Ho Yinsen watch the first Earthen dragon in over a millennium crawl from its egg, covered in its birthing liquid, eyes shut, trembling with exhaustion.

It’s a tiny thing, barely the size of a housecat. Its underbelly is the same color as its egg—that aged honey-amber—but the rest of its scales are a startling bright yellow-gold. The way the light from their furnace and the lamps shine off it makes Tony think of a yellow diamond, with deep facets that shine and glimmer from different perspectives. Its wings are wet and glued to its sides and look as flimsy as wet tissue. There are a handful of protruding horn-things that are like antlered nubs on its head and the length of its tail.

Tony reaches out, tentative and wary of the tic-tac sized teeth he can glimpse and slides a piece of the egg free from the dragon’s head. At the touch, the dragon jerks, surprised, and makes an inquisitive sound, deep in its throat. It turns its head towards Tony’s hand, seeking warmth.

Glancing at Yinsen, he allows the dragon to nudge its head into the palm of Tony’s hand.

“Well hello there,” Tony is going to say, before the dragon’s head contacts him and a sharp shock of electricity zings up his arm, flooding in his chest, making his eyes cross from the sudden onslaught of a migraine. He yanks back, but not before the pain passes and Tony is left blinking at both the dragon and his right hand, which is suddenly endowed with a glove of black markings, like a tattoo.

The mark circles his middle finger and his wrist, filling both the palm and the back of his hand with intricate marks of runes and Celtic-like designs. Some of the marks reach up to his nailbeds. It reminds him of henna designs, if they were black and moved around like snakes when they’re viewed from the corner of one’s eye. The lines are shining with some indescribable light, and his whole arm is buzzing with what felt like electricity but was far more…alive.

“What the fuck,” Tony says instead.

“Congratulations, Mr. Stark,” Yinsen says, staring with obvious awe at both the mark and the baby dragon, who is removing its rump from the eggshell. “I believe you just had a baby.”

*

They keep the dragon hidden for all of two hours before their check-in, and the real leader—Yinsen informs him his name is Raza before they are made to stand further apart, hands behind their heads—makes his way into their workshop. He fingers the egg shell, and its sharp edges, before turning to Tony.

“It seems you are more efficient than we believed,” he says, in a disconcertingly calm voice. “I will not brand you, then, for your less-than efficient work on my missile.”

Tony wisely keeps his mouth firmly shut, thank you.

The dragon hatchling is curled up on Tony’s cot, sleeping in one of his two shirts. Raza gestures to it, and one of the terrorists grabs it, wrapping the shirt around so its talons don’t catch him. The dragon immediately wakes, yowling and squirming in the guy’s arms.

Tony feels a sudden and sharp spike of fear pierce his chest. He’s shouting without even knowing what’s coming out of his mouth, pressing his chest against the barrels of guns as he watches as the dragon twists and turns its body like a furious cat before sinking its sharp needle-teeth into the guy’s arm.

The dragon plummets to the floor as its dropped, but lands on its feet. Despite only being born two hours ago, it flares its wings, scrambling on trembling fawn legs as it backs into Yinsen. Tony’s heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“Stop, stop!” Tony realizes he’s yelling. Another two of the terrorists grab at the dragon, and Tony yells again, “You can’t take it, you can’t!”

Raza gets right in Tony’s face, staring at him. “Oh? Why is that, Mr. Stark?”

The fear hasn’t abated. It’s throbbing, right at the base of his skull, making every other thought tremble with the force of it. That’s when Tony realizes it’s not his own fear; it’s the _dragon’s._

“If you take it away from me, it’ll die,” he says with a sudden spike of inspiration. He raises his marked hand from behind his head to display the runic markings. “We’re bonded. That’s how it hatched. It has a telepathic connection to me. If it’s away from me, the connection will break, and it’ll die.”

Raza stares at him, impassively, seeking out the lie. Tony has no idea if it’s a lie or not, if he’s honest. It must be the lack of outright deceit that convinces him, because Raza tilts his head. “And how long must it be connected to you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s never done quicker math in his head. It’ll take him and Yinsen four to six months to construct the suit, what with their serious constraints in materials, schedule, tools, and the general atmosphere of being held hostage. They have to fake a Jericho construction on top of design, small-scale testing, and fabrication of the suit.

“Six months,” Tony says.

Raza doesn’t blink. He lets the number hang in the air, alongside the hissing of the still-frightened dragon.

“I’m taking it in three,” he says.

*

The dragon curls beside him that night, still trembling with residual fear. The throbbing insistency of it has faded into a background buzzing of white noise in Tony’s head.

Tony tentatively pets it and relaxes when the dragon quiets. It feels like a reptile, with slimy scales and wire-thin ribs. Its wings have folded awkwardly after being spread threateningly, but don’t look like they’ve torn.

“This sucks, huh,” Tony says to it, gently. He feels something in the back of his mind, making the back of his neck tingle—an emotion similar to hunger, but that was tinged with questioning and fear. And _wow,_ if that isn’t a weird feeling. It’s almost as though he’s reacting to instinctual feelings— you know, those kind of sensations like a gut instinct or knowing someone is watching you—but knowing that they haven’t originated in his own hindbrain.

“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” he says, quietly. “Sorry, buddy.”

The dragon huffs and shifts in closer to his side. Having a baby dragon sleep next to his ribcage is definitely one of the weirdest things that’s happened to him, but it’s by no means the worst: it’s a delicate thing, but one that warms the back of his mind with simple emotions and companionship.

Tony glances down and sees its eyes have opened, and they’re trained on his face. Tony is struck dumb as he stares into the eyes of this infant dragon, whose egg must have been laid centuries ago, and into its bright irises that are the color of his brand-new arc reactor.

*

Something that feels like a month later, Yinsen lifts the dragon’s tail as it naps in its nest of blankets and stolen items of clothing and declares it female.

“Have you named her yet?” he asks.

Tony blanks, and gestures to his desk of electrical parts and soldering irons. “I’ve been a little preoccupied, Yinsen.”

“You cannot call her ‘buddy’ or ‘baby Smaug’ forever.”

“Let’s just wait for the birth certificate until we’re out of here, yeah?”

Yinsen shrugs and lets him be. Baby Smaug wakes up a little while later and leaps up onto Tony’s work station, begging for scratches. Pleasure warms the back of Tony’s mind.

“So,” he murmurs, cupping the dragon’s jaw and squishing up its—her—face before obligingly scratching her beneath the jaw. His dirty nails catch at the thin crevasses between the scales there, making her purr with pleasure. “You’re a little girl dragon, then, huh?”

The dragon’s tongue peeks out, forked and slithering. Her weird opaque second-eyelids have slid shut, dimming the arc reactor blue to that of murky ice. Nothing but satisfaction and a dim background hum of hunger radiates through the connection. She’s always hungry, no matter what they feed her—which, admittedly, isn’t much, since they aren’t given more than gruel.

“What kinda name you looking for then? Linda? Sally? Gertrude the Gold?”

The dragon’s eyelids slide away, leveling him with a truly unimpressed look. The buzz of warmth doesn’t fade, but there’s a new feeling floating between them—something more complex than the instinctual signals of hunger, fear (common feelings, in here). It’s the first time she’s sent him something beyond her physical needs, and something buoyant and warm blooms in Tony’s chest, right beneath the arc reactor.

“Tough crowd,” he says, with a smile. “We’ll work on it, baby girl.”

*

Not long after that, Raza returns to their merry little workshop with red-hot incentive to work faster on the Jericho. Baby girl takes the near-attack on Yinsen personally, and bites clean to the bone through one of the terrorist’s legs. They can hear him yowling and cursing for an hour afterwards.

Raza picks up baby girl by the scruff of her neck after hitting her on the right side of her head, deftly avoiding her swiping talons and snapping, bloody teeth. 

He gestures to Tony, still holding his spitting mad baby girl in his outstretched hand. “Collar this beast, Stark. Else I will do it for you.”

It takes nearly putting another coal into Yinsen’s eye before he, under Raza’s guard, begrudgingly fabricates a metal collar and chains baby girl to one of the heavy work tables.

Tony sends as many apologies as he can through their connection as he welds the collar shut. Baby girl replies with confusion, fear, but also—trust, as she crouches, unmoving, under his welding flame.

*

Every time Tony cuts baby girl free from the leash and collar, the guards outside of the cell waterboard him. It gives her ten, twenty minutes of freedom when she’s overwhelmed with fear, though, so it’s worth it.

By the time he and Yinsen move to final assembly on the suit, Tony has cut his baby girl free over a dozen times.

*

Yinsen welds him into the suit, baby girl perched on his shoulders, collar and leash still attached. Tony glances between the two of them and feels his chest ache. He’s not sure if it’s entirely him or influenced by baby girl, who is watching him with her wide blue eyes. She’s grown from the size of a housecat to that of one of those wild African cats that looks like it’s far too big and wild to ever be related to domesticated animals. From snout to tail, she’s a little over three feet long (most of which is tail).

“We need more time,” Yinsen says, and presses his forehead to baby girl’s before setting her on the workstation behind him. He breaks free her collar, picks up a gun, and runs.

They find him down the tunnel, bleeding freely. Tony orders him to his feet, but Yinsen says he has no family left, tells him not to waste the rest of his life. Baby girl crawls to his side, underbelly to the ground, eyes wide and big and confusion radiating into Tony’s head. She doesn’t know what’s happening, but she can smell the blood, see the grayness in his face.

“I am sorry, little one,” Yinsen says. He reaches out to pet her, says, “You truly are magnificent,” and takes his last breath with his hand resting on her head.

*

Tony torches the camp to the ground, and through the link, orders baby girl to climb up the back of the suit and bite one of the hand grips meant for Yinsen. Once he feels her weight, he activates the repulsors in the feet, and flies free of the camp that held him and his baby girl hostage.

Until the repulsors die, and Tony and baby girl fall back towards earth. He feels his trajectory changing, until he’s upside down, and he’d land straight on baby girl, crushing her with the weight of the suit—

_Let go!_

He hits the sand, the armor scattering. He pulls off the helmet just in time to see baby girl above him, wings outstretched, flailing in the air as she glides downwards, eyes wide and talons extended. She looks magnificent—frightening— _scared._

Clumsily, he forces himself to his knees and lunges to catch her, talons and all. Their connection is alight with grief and joy and elation and pain.

Tony stands, and only then sees the ragged tears in the membrane of her wings, the still-growing tissue unable to sustain the air pressure and her weight in flight.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her, crushing her to his chest and arc reactor. She keens, a sound telepathically accentuated with joy and love and fear; he feels her take a deep breath in, sparking between them. “We’ll fix you right up once we’re home, you’ll be good as new, baby girl, I promise. No more collars, no more caves, just you and me, baby girl, we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

*

Pepper Potts watches Tony Stark stand from a wheelchair from inside the airplane’s cargo bay, relying on Rhodey’s arm to stay there.

Pepper Potts watches a golden, blue-eyed dragon climb from his lap onto his shoulders, wings flaring to bare five lines of neat, healing stitches.

Pepper Potts watches two men and a should-be extinct dragon descend onto the tarmac, alive and new and entirely unfamiliar to her, and watches the world change right before her eyes.

*

The press should rightly hound Tony Stark’s triumphant return from an Afghan cave smack in the middle of a warzone—Tony expected a circus. But when the press catches sight of baby girl, and the settled black mark on his hand, the entire world goes insane.

Tony had wanted to make a press conference to announce the cancellation of the weapons sector of SI, but when the news breaks about baby girl’s birth and her connection to him, getting baby girl and Tony secured becomes a Presidential level of importance.

By the time they make it to the Malibu mansion, there are a dozen news and police helicopters hovering over them, and there’s a crowd ten-people deep around the gates. Tony, rather than bantering with the crowd like he normally would, lays across the seat to cover baby girl’s body with his own, soothing her, and blocking the world from her sight.

Pepper lays her hand over his neck, and baby girl makes a keening sound; she wriggles beneath him, and sniffs at Pepper. She sends a questioning feeling to him—an inquisition of safety; is this human safe?

Tony says to her, “Everyone in this car is a friend, baby girl. Like Yinsen. All friends of mine, all friends of you, okay?”

Baby girl hums and stops wriggling. Tony glances upwards towards Pepper and sees her slight smile before she turns away.

Happy makes it through the crowd, and Tony hugs baby girl into his chest, shielding her as he walks into home. Without pausing, he says, “JARVIS, lock this place down, buddy. Shit, am I glad to be back home. Open the workshop for me?”

“Certainly, sir,” says JARVIS. “And may I say what a pleasure it is to have you back.”

Tony hustles baby girl down into the safety of the workshop. “Okay,” he says, once baby girl is on her own four feet, prowling around the workshop in rotations, returning to him before each subsequent exploration. “Time for that press conference.”

*

Tony records his speech about his dad, doubts, and having his eyes opened in front of a camera. He includes baby girl, vaguely, giving only pieces of what the world would want; he flashes his mark, reaches down to pet baby girl without allowing her to be shown on camera, except for the occasional flash of her yellow scales in the background.

He says, “I’m hereby shutting down the weapons sector of Stark Industries, effective immediately. No more zero accountability. It’s time for us—for me—to do something right for the world.”

He has JARVIS distribute it all over the internet, and a half hour later, it’s being dissected by (almost) every news station on Earth.

*

Obie storms the mansion later that day but is kept out of the workshop (luckily) by JARVIS taking his job very seriously.

Tony emerges on his own, carefully keeping a tab on baby girl. She wails at being left behind, but when he turns to her at the top of the stairs, she’s hesitating at the bottom, staring at him and then beyond him—to frightening unknown. He sends her reassurances, _I’ll be right here,_ but she’s distinctly uncomfortable as he turns the corner, out of her view.

“What the hell was that, Tony?” Obie asks—almost thunders—when Tony appears. “I’ve been doing crisis management ever since that little announcement of yours.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Tony replies, instinctually heading towards the bar, but baby girl’s presence in his workshop reroutes him to the kitchen. “If you saw what our weapons did over there, Obie—”

Obie is right in his space when Tony turns around, an arm slung over his shoulder. “Look, kid, I know,” he’s saying. “But this wasn’t the right move. The board isn’t happy with you.”

“When are they?” Tony says, but he’s cut off from the rest of a smart-ass response when he feels a distinct stab of fury-fear-protect-fight in the back of his mind. He barely says, “Baby girl!” before the dragon launches herself onto Obie’s back, snarling and howling like Tony was being murdered.

Obie shouts, reaching back to grab at the dragon clinging to his back, but baby girl bites at the hand that reaches for her, snapping to the bone. Blood sprays from between her teeth, and all at once Tony is back in the cave, watching baby girl bite that terrorist and being struck upside the head for it.

Tony snaps out of his memory and reaches out to gets a grip on baby girl, yanks her from Obie’s body, wrestling her despite the flying talons and biting wings. “Stop, stop, baby girl, it’s okay! Baby girl, shh, shh, I’m safe, we’re okay…”

Baby girl is snarling and snapping openly at Obie, blood in her teeth.

“What the fuck, Stark?” Obie yells, cradling his bitten hand against his chest.

“She’s scared, Obie, fuck!” Tony yells back. “She’s just a baby, she thought you wanted to hurt me! Back off!”

Obie does, almost snarling back at baby girl before he sighs and says, “Jesus, Tony. If it reacts like this to everyone—”

“You scared her,” Tony snaps, his own emotions colored by baby girl’s, whose anger and fury are still ricocheting between them. He pulls her closer, turning away from him so baby girl’s eyes focus on him instead of Obie. “Just—look. Deal with the board, do whatever you have to. But no more weapons. I’m not going to have my name on another missile, that’s just the truth.”

As Obie retreats, still muttering darkly over his bleeding hand, baby girl’s emotions roil from fury to deep, ugly distrust.

*

He has precisely one paper calendar in his workshop. It’s three months behind, filled with markings of appointments and charity events in Pepper’s neat handwriting, and his own reminders for things that he can’t even remember are about.

He tears the months free, and briefly admires the hot rod car displayed above the marked-in month of May.

It had been February when he went to Afghanistan. He remembered it had been snowing in New York, his rest stop before crossing the ocean.

Now it’s May. Flowers blooming, appointments long cancelled still marked to keep.

Tony shakes his head, and moves to his table, where baby girl is sleeping in her newly built nest of Tony’s shirts and jackets. He says to JARVIS, “Let’s get started, buddy. Create new project.”

*

Pepper comes down to the workshop after he calls for her help. She’s looking at the empty hole in his chest with obvious trepidation, and he’s trying to convince her to replace the reactor when he feels baby girl crawl from her hidey-hole from under one of his cars. Pepper stops talking at the appearance of the dragon, watching her approach with wide, wonderous eyes.

“Hey, baby girl,” Tony says, reaching down to stroke her back. She accepts the touch, rolling into it, eyeing Pepper with an odd look—she’s holding the new reactor in her hands—and then the hole in Tony’s chest, an obvious expression of ‘what are you waiting for?’

Pepper eventually replaces the reactor, and despite the minor hiccup of near-cardiac arrest, it all goes according to plan.

“See? All done,” he says, laughing. While Pepper catches her breath, baby girl jumps onto the table and lays her head on the reactor, humming happily. Pepper melts, but she’s very still, conscious of the distance between them.

Tony pets her, and then asks, _can Pepper touch you?_ When she doesn’t respond immediately, he sends her the images: petting, touching, Pepper, baby girl.

There’s uncertainty, but eventually, with her permission, Tony asks, “Want to pet her?”

“I—are you sure? I don’t want to scare her…” She’s probably thinking of Obie’s bite wound, judging by the way she’s wringing her hands.

“She’s okay with it, here,” Tony says, grabbing her hand and laying it on baby girl’s side. Baby girl freezes for a moment, and then continues breathing steadily as she feels Tony’s other hand rub at her jaw.

“Oh, wow,” Pepper says, in awe. She doesn’t move her hand, but just feels her breathing, the slide of her scales. “She’s beautiful, Tony.”

Tony smiles, and he feels baby girl’s happiness warm him in return. “Yeah, she is,” he says.

*

The month passes in a blur of designing, testing, fabrication, and feverishly avoiding every single news outlet and government goon than hounds him for information on baby girl. He recalls signing off on a statement Stark Industries released about her, something about captivity and privacy in the first few months of her life.

With regular, healthy meals and a mansion to explore safely, Tony realizes how tough the captivity had been on baby girl. By the time June rolls around, she’s put on twenty pounds and grown nearly a foot. Tony can’t feel her ribs anymore when she rubs against his legs or the knobs of her spine when he strokes her from nape to tail. She’s inquisitive, bright, and gets into trouble even though they’re nearly always in the same room.

But she never leaves him. Tony is always within her line of sight now, even when she explores whatever room they’re in. When Tony wakes with nightmares or has a brief freak-out in the shower when he gets water on his face, she’s at his side immediately with their connection thrumming with fear.

It’d been hard on both of them, Tony realizes. But they’re alive. And it’s easy to calm down when there’s another presence in his head, something that should have been invasive but only serves to make him feel like he’s going to be okay.

*

Tony asks, “JARVIS, what’s the world saying about baby girl?”

“According to social media and international news outlets, there is an overwhelming positive response to the young dragon's birth and her connection to you.” On the holographic projection, JARVIS displays news clips, interviews, and media campaigns from across the world. There are fuzzy pictures of baby girl, of Tony’s marks, and of organizations and governments speaking out in support of the return of Earthen dragons. “Overall, the majority of the American public has responded with optimistim for the future of dragons and Stark Industries. Similarly, Stark Industries has been overwhelmed with requests for information regarding her, from both the public and the United States government.”

Tony examines the data and the overflowing voicemails of his department heads and his own personal lines, and then turns to baby girl, where she’s tearing into the rump of a pig carcass he’d delivered whole from a butcher’s. There are three more in Tony’s kitchen, which had (briefly) broken even Pepper’s stride.

“You’re more famous than I ever was,” he tells her.

Pleasure-satisfaction-satiety flows from her mind into his. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You don’t even care,” he accuses her.

Agreement-warmth rumbles back.

*

Tony looks up from his work on the left leg repulsor, an instinctual glance around the room leading his eyes to her glistening scales. She’s sitting at the edge of one of his workstations, tail flicking as she stares at the paper calendar on one of the support pillars.

“Like the car, baby girl?” he calls to her, mostly just to say something. She communicates to him solely through their mental connection with images and sensations, but he likes to talk to her, bridging their mental conversations with words.

Baby girl flicks her tail, wings fluttering. Tony had removed the stitches two weeks ago, but the lines of the tears from flying too young were still scarred and visible, even from across the workshop. She’s concentrating deeply, which Tony can feel at the back of his mind, almost like he’s being ignored.

Tony shrugs, and turns back to his work. Baby girl has tended to fixate on the oddest things around the house, like the speakers (not the television) in the workshop, the electric can opener in the kitchen, and only one specific camera that JARVIS uses to observe the front hall (she’s uninterested in every other camera in the house). Her finding something interesting about the calendar doesn’t surprise him.

He falls back into work, and maybe a half hour later, he senses baby girl return her attention to him, but doesn’t pay it much mind until he hears a tentative voice at the back of his mind.

_Tony._

He whirls around, and stares at baby girl, who is staring right back at him. He gets dizzy, sometimes, looking into her arc reactor eyes. Her tail flicks, and in his head, she says again, _Tony._

Her voice is all at once utterly alien and completely familiar to him. It’s as though her voice has been with him his entire life, in his dreams, in distorted memories that have long yellowed with age; something keenly nostalgic and comforting but lost to time and memory.

Again, she says, _Tony._ This time it’s safer, warmer, but also firm, a call for attention.

“Baby girl,” he says, wonderingly, in awe. He approaches her with an expression that JARVIS is sure to record and blackmail him with later.

She breaks their gaze and turns her nose towards the calendar. He forces himself to lift his eyes from her and looks at it. The car on display is a Bugatti 41—the Coupé Napoleon. It’s a pretty car but doesn’t seem like it should be particularly interesting to a five-month-old dragon.

_Tony,_ comes again, and wow does that voice send shivers up Tony’s spine, in a whole new way that he’s never experienced before. His mind is alight with their connection, churning and brightening as he can _feel_ her mind press against his, a door opening between them.

“What is it?” he asks her, looking at her. “What is it, baby girl?”

She gestures impatiently to the calendar, sending him a mixture of impatience-discovery-certainty, and then his name again.

He looks at the calendar again. There’s nothing that he’s marked in the month that wasn’t there before Afghanistan, nothing interesting about the car. It’s June, an even thirty days filling up the page.

Brightness flares in his mind at the thought, and oh, shit, she can read his mind. Excitement floods through her-to-him-to-them, and Tony realizes, aloud, “June.”

Baby girl flaps her wings, bounding on the workstation, joy illuminating in them.

_June,_ he says, and June replies, _Tony._

*

Tony completes the fourth test on the repulsors (oh _fuck_ yeah, he can fly) and laughs as baby girl—June—once more approaches to sniff at his ironclad feet. She recoils after a moment and sneezes, shooting about a foot of white-gold flame from her mouth.

Tony scrambles back, barely avoiding the scorching flames. He and June stare both at the singe marks left on the landing pad.

June makes the mistake of inhaling again, and sneezes once more, flames spiraling.

DUM-E sees the flames and douses the dragon in extinguishing foam, which, props where props are due, is its job.

June stands perfectly still for two seconds. Tony watches her grow tense and feels her shock transform in his mind with the presence of a man watching a speeding car filled with explosives heading his way.

Tony does one of those action-movie slides across one of the work benches to avoid June’s slashing talons and the fire that comes spitting from her mouth in the next second. The workshop fills with a startled dragon’s yowling and the distressed whirring of Tony’s firstborn idiot bot. And Tony stays safely hidden until June comes scrabbling around the corner, covered in foam, smoke curling from her nostrils.

She actually makes an adorable picture: her yellow-gold sales caked with sliding lines of foam, eyes wide, wings flapping, knee joints bent in pent-up energy. Their bond, at first filled with surprise and instinctual shock, becomes taut with something very similar to mischief as Tony’s face cracks with an undeniable smile.

“Oh, shit,” Tony says.

Pepper finds them an hour later, sprawled on the floor in the kitchen eating pieces of one of the pigs, the meat of which June has so kindly cooked with her fire breath. Tony’s singed, head-to-toe, and June has soot and smoke dirtying the scales of her head. There’s scorch marks on the floors, the walls, even on the high ceilings.

“It’s been one of those days,” is all Tony says.

*

The thing that’s difficult to reconcile is that June spent the actual first three months of her life living in constant fear, most of which stemmed from being grabbed and collared by men that made Tony instinctually send terror through their connection; it was a situation that made June rightly terrified of those who made her human terrified. That fear was a thing not easily lifted, not when June unconsciously sent him images of himself being drowned in a bucket of water each time he turned on the tap or let her look over the ocean for too long.

Tony made it his mission to lessen those fears. They work on the suit, and Tony tells her stories of his life, tries to convince her how Afghanistan and the dark cave with the scary humans would never happen again.

It takes time. Progress occurs in Pepper’s presence, and steeply declines during Obie’s occasional visits.

*

He finishes the Mark II, asks June if she wants to go on a flight. She sends him an inquisitive image of himself, an aerial perspective of his arms outstretched, amidst pieces of metal and sand, and the sensation of limbs he doesn’t have ripping.

He sends her an image of the suit flying, with repulsors working like she’d seen during testing, with the intention of her holding onto his back.

“You can’t fly yet,” he says, because just yesterday he’d seen her jump off a workstation with wings extended, only to fall straight to the floor. “But I can.”

Apparently, June doesn’t understand that not all humans can fly, because she readily agrees, and together, they run before they walk.

*

And almost fall to the earth, covered in ice; but June hadn’t let go, and he’d fixed it before it got too scary. So, really, a success all around.

*

The exhilaration of a successful project doesn’t last long.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tony,” Pepper says on the phone, when he expresses his new plans to crash a SI fundraiser, June in tow. “We should introduce her to the press safely, somewhere planned…”

“We’re both feeling cooped up, Pep,” he says, lying a bit, since June seems perfectly content with the occasional flight on the Mark II and sleeping in her nest. “And besides, if anyone tries to touch her, she’ll bite their hand off.”

“That’s comforting,” she replies, dryly. “Seriously, Tony, think about June. Even though the craze has died down, it’ll ramp right back up at a sighting.”

Tony sends June, _want to go to a party with me?_ accompanied with images of a handful of galas he can actually recall the gist of, along with, _you’ll always be with me._

She trills, sends, _with Tony? Feel better?_

_Tony will feel better if we go, if you stay with me._

June sends warmth-love-agreement, shuffling in her nest. The whole conversation only took a beat, which doesn’t break the flow of his and Pepper’s conversation.

“Yeah, but you gotta admit, her showing up all at once was pretty shocking. Now everyone knows about her. She’s older now, better—she won’t freak. She wants to come, Pep, she told me herself.”

“Uh huh,” she says, clearly not persuaded—about June’s willingness, their communication, or something hereto yet unknown, Tony can’t tell. But Pepper knows he’s going to crash the thing anyway, and says, “Fine. Be safe. Thanks for giving me a heads up.”

Tony hangs up and goes to get dressed.

*

They arrive at the fundraiser not long after and Tony warns June that it’s going to get loud. June obligingly flicks her ears flat against her head, looking balefully out the window towards the press crowd.

_Hold onto me,_ he says, and steps out of the car. June ducks her head, looking warily around from her perch on Tony’s shoulders as he jogs up the stairs. At seven months, she’s just shy on the edge of too heavy for him, but in this crazy environment, Tony won’t have her anywhere else.

The press gaggle screams and goes nuts at the sight of June, a glittering golden gem on Tony Stark’s shoulders. Her eyes scan over them, her talons digging into Tony’s shoulder, but she remains calm, since that’s all that Tony is sending her.

Once they’re inside, the guests are high enough on the social ladder to know not to crowd Tony as he makes his way to the bar, June’s head poking high above the crowd, a buoy following his wake. They do whisper, point, take pictures, but no one is stupid enough to grab at her flaring wings or her whipping tail, long enough now to tickle the back of his thighs.

Pepper makes her way to them, smiling at June and positively glowing when June’s ears flick forward, body language loosening at the sight of a familiar face. It’s not total trust, but Pepper seems more than pleased.

“Of course you would bring a dragon to a fundraising event,” she says in greeting.

Tony grins. “Imagine the donations, Pep.” He reaches up and rubs at June’s neck, where he can reach. She purrs, and her ears flick back down as the two of them reach the dancefloor, and her body sways in the breeze when they reach the roof.

*

Obie pulls Tony in for a handshake in front of the press, with the hand that bears June’s scar, and says, “It was me who filed the injunction against you, Tony.”

June, having climbed to Tony’s other shoulder with Obie got close, snarls. Obie pulls back, shock and fear briefly flickering across his face at the sight of a dragon snarling at him from Tony’s shoulders. Tony realizes Obie thought June wasn’t capable of understanding him.

Tony stands there as Obie descends, mind churning, the images of the destroyed town flooding his vision. He’s broken from his reverie as June whispers, with dark emotions clinging to her voice, _wicked, betrayer, leech._

*

June’s voice howls in his mind when she realizes he’s left her behind. He sends her apologies in calming tones, whispering for forgiveness as he lands in Afghanistan, in Yinsen’s hometown, taken over. The distance between them does nothing to their connection, so he can feel June’s fear and fury as he kills the terrorists there, destroys a tank, makes right his sins.

He returns, and before he can get the bullet-ridden suit off, she bounds to him and knocks him to the floor with the strength of her fury and body. Once astride his chest, she opens her mouth and yowls at him, screaming in both body and mind. After a handful of seconds, staring into her open maw filled with razor sharp teeth, she relents, glaring at him with the light from his arc reactor glinting off her scales.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” he says, tears suddenly and inexplicably blurring his sight. “I had to. I had to. I can’t lose you.”

*

Obadiah Stane paralyzes Tony on the couch before he rips out Tony’s metal heart.

He gets right in Tony’s space, nose to nose, and pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants as June comes barreling from the upper floors, snarling in a truly terrifying way.

Tony says, _no, June, run!_

Obadiah Stane shoots June as she hesitates at the base of the steps, and says, “Dragons don’t have a place on Earth anymore, Tony.”

*

The paralyzer still makes his body heavy as he crawls to June, where she lay at the foot of the stairs. He grabs her head, puts their foreheads together as her body heaves with labored breaths.

“Baby girl, no no no, Junebug, no,” he says, mind and body, pressing his hand to the bullet wound on the left side of her chest, the trajectory angled down so the exit wound was a messy, torn thing on the side of her ribs.

June keens, and sends him an image of the arc reactor, boxed and tucked next to June’s nest in the workstation.

_I don’t care about me, no no no no, June, June, baby girl, no_

An image, then: looking up at Tony’s sleeping face, jaw resting and illuminated by the light of the reactor; her burrowing into his chest, a sensation of crackling energy, a flare of magic in the blue of her eyes.

_Tony,_ she says. Another image of the reactor, the feeling of warmth in the darkness, of the burn of magic she can’t control. _Tony,_ again.

_I’m not leaving you, no, June, no_

_Go!_ Comes the entreaty, followed by a keen. _Tony!_

Tony kisses her brow, keens alongside her. And then he goes.

*

Rhodey finds him, collapsed by the desk, carrying June, limp, in his arms.

“Tony!”

He reaches for her, and Rhodey places her in his arms, cradled against his chest. They’re both soaked in deep red blood, deeper than a human’s, that fills the room with the scent of something wild and feral and ancient.

“June,” Tony whispers, “June.”

She’s breathing heavy, eyes flicking. He guides her head to the reactor and feels her _inhale._

The arc reactor glows, crackles with a static charge that buzzes through him. Their connection, something that felt strained and dim as Tony and June both struggled for consciousness, flares live-wire bright, and snaps with power as June draws energy from the reactor into her body.

Rhodey watches as the wound, a fatal thing, stitches closed on her ribcage; he hears the death rattle in her lungs ease. Tony feels the strength under her scales return as she lifts her head, eyes half-lidded.

_Love love love you, love you, can’t lose you, baby girl, June…_

_Love Tony,_ June responds, a quiet voice in his mind. Her head lowers back to his chest, tucking into his neck. And then, _kill Obadiah._

*

Tony leaves June in Rhodey’s arms and goes to kill Obadiah.

*

June leaps to his shoulders as he stands in front of the press conference, Coulson’s index cards firmly in his grip. The crowd murmurs and watches the dragon raptly as she settles there, wings flared, tail flicking. The scar on her chest is just visible in the disruption of the layering of her underbelly scales.

Only a handful of minutes into the speech, Tony pauses, mind working. He thinks about June, about the newly dubbed Iron Man, of the future ahead for Pepper and June and Stark Industries in whichever path he takes. He thinks about the dragons and their riders that might—should—exist beyond Earth, of bullet wounds, of how he needs to be strong to protect June as she grows.

June says, _we keep secrets?_

_No,_ Tony replies, _we keep no secrets._


	2. The Whispering Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed since Tony Stark became Iron Man, and a Norse god falls out of a portal somewhere in a SHIELD black site. Said Norse god did not expect to eventually come face-to-face with a dragon, but it does fit in with the streak of luck he's been having lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again y'all. Finished this chapter early, so I'm posting it now instead of on Saturday. Generally, I'll try to post a new chapter a week from Saturday, but like now, may post early--between Wednesday and then. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment, bookmark, or kudos! Hope you like where I'm taking this story. I do have it all mapped out, and hopefully now we can leave the retelling of the movies parts behind and get into some original action.
> 
> Speaking of: I skipped Iron Man II for three reasons: 1) I haven't seen it in years and I'm too lazy to watch it now, b) we all have seen it before and nothing changes with June there so what's the point and 4) it'd be boring to read three chapters worth of rewriting movies we've all seen. 
> 
> For the purposes of making things simple, I've decided to stick to the canon timeline, i.e. Iron Man was set in 2010, not 2008. This makes June ~2 years old. 
> 
> Thanks again! If you see any mistakes, they're all mine, and I'd be happy to fix anything noticed. Hope you enjoy!

“Agent Romanov. You miss me?”

Natasha almost pulls away from the controls when she sees that Stark has overridden the PA system and starts blaring that music he likes so much. She turns in her seat to peer over to the right of the jet, her eyes off the alien—Loki—and where he has Captain America locked in battle so she can catch a glimpse of him.

She expects him to come charging down in his flashy Iron Man suit, with his dragon in tow—or left behind, as he tends to do in overseas missions. Instead, through the darkness and clouds hanging over the plaza, she catches a glimpse of yellow-gold, and then the jet is buffeted by strong winds from the same side. Natasha corrects for the turbulence as the dragon appears.

Over the plaza, and kneeling citizens—and conquering god—the yellow dragon descends, hovering with strongly beating wings. She roars, and despite Natasha’s familiarity with June (thanks to her stint as Stark’s PA a year back), she finds herself (only slightly) cowed at the appearance of the Stark dragon. June is _much_ bigger than she remembers.

Of course she’s read the file on June—the one constantly updated from sightings in the facts of her weight, size, wingspan, temperament—so she knows June has grown over twice her size since Natasha last saw her, from eight feet to seventeen; she knows her wingspan, from estimates, is two to four feet longer than her length; she knows June has two rows of large, serrated teeth, that her jaw has pressure strong enough to snap a human’s ribcage with strength to spare.

But it’s very different to know these things than it is to see them. Especially when June lands, and with a deliberate step, scatters the hostage to safety by their fear of her. And now that June has landed, Natasha can see Tony, sitting astride her haunches, in a modified, sleek Iron Man suit. The darkness of the metallic saddle contrasts with the glinting light of her yellow scales, where they peek free from beneath plated sheets of armor that cover her throat and skull. Her eyes, as she takes in the scene, glow with the same light as the inlaid triangle within Stark’s suit. The antlers atop her head, honeyed-red, gleam.

“Now, now, Reindeer Games,” Tony Stark says as Loki takes a step back, and even from a distance, Natasha can see he has gone very, very pale. “Don’t you want to play nice with us mortals?”

June makes a deep sound in her throat, something approximating a bitten-back laugh. She’s far longer than she is tall, but she still towers over Loki; with her scarred wings extended and flared, she looks far larger than she really is. Natasha can imagine the sight Loki is faced with: an armored dragon of war, threatening with teeth and wing and strength, towering over him and his own might.

Loki hesitates, caught still in tension. June beats her wings, growls with teeth bared.

Loki raises his hands in surrender.

*

When Loki is secured in the jet, Tony slides from June’s back and helps her retract the armor from her skull. He scratches under her jaw, now the size of his chest, and grins when her inner eyelids close with pleasure.

“Great job, baby girl,” he coos as America’s great captain and SHIELD’s favorite spy approach them. Tony plans on playing nice with them, so June’s eyes open to take in the both of them; their connection sours with dislike at the sight of Natasha but goes eerily quiet at the sight of Captain America.

“You didn’t say anything about dragons,” Steve Rogers says to Natasha, eyeing June back as she stares at him.

“Didn’t know you’d come out this far with her,” Natasha mentions to Tony.

“We wanted to stretch our legs,” Tony replies, mentally knocking at the now nearly-closed door between their minds. June ignores him. “So. Norse gods falling from the sky now? Or, rather, out of portals?”

“We’ll discuss it when Loki is secure,” Natasha dismisses. “Are you riding with us?”

“Nah,” Tony replies. “We’ll be above you.”

Tony activates the head armor, and June sits still as it expands from its retracted place within the saddle and over her neck and head. When it’s in place, she shakes, shifting it into a comfortable position as Tony repulses himself up into the saddle. The dragon-flyte suit hums as it registers the saddle and holds him in place. June finally turns away from Captain America and reopens their connection but dismisses his mental questions about her behavior by raising her wings and taking flight, buffeting the two beneath her hard enough to make them brace.

_You want to let me in on what’s got you twisted up?_

_Strangers,_ is all she says, and the images of Natalie Rushman’s demure face, Raza’s raised fist, and Obadiah Stane holding a gun aren’t necessary for Tony to know what she’s talking about.

 _We talked about her,_ Tony replies as they circle the plaza, waiting for the jet to follow. He avoids thinking about the other two; he still has nightmares about June’s birth circumstances and her brush with death. _Spying, not betraying._

June tosses her head, a physical response to their conversation. She allows the jet to lift and orient itself towards its destination before following. Tony can feel that she’s holding back from her fastest, but this flight is endurance: she’s been holding back the whole time here.

 _She lies to all,_ June says. _To me. I let her touch you. I do not like when they touch you, your things._

 _Well, me either, baby girl. But if we want in on all this fun stuff,_ which is accompanied by the images of the tesseract Coulson had provided them with, Loki, the intrigue of aliens long theorized, _we have to play nice. Even with Capsicle. He just got hatched, you know._

June snorts, tipping to the right so the jet is diagonal to her, not directly below; she’s shielded by the clouds and rumbling approaching storm. _Melted. He does not know the exhaustion of hatching. He knows little of the world._

_Neither did you, when you came out. You thought I was born in that cave too, for months afterwards._

_I learned,_ was all she said.

Tony can’t get her to elaborate, and huffs when she closes the door between their minds to only a crack; he can feel her, and she him, but their connected train of thoughts is stoppered. He settles into the saddle, situated right above her shoulder blades, harnessed around and between her front legs and its end strapped behind her beating wings. Designing this thing had been difficult, since June went through two separate growth spurts during the four-month period he worked on it; she’d rejected the two first prototypes for being too cumbersome and too heavy, respectively.

This saddle is a lightweight thing, sleek and form-fitting, that houses her flight armor in its saddlebags—it retracts or expands like his Iron briefcase. June admires its flexibility, but still dislikes the feeling of metal against the hollow of her jaw, no matter that it protects her. But she’d eventually acquiesced, especially since she understands his whole thing is building suits of armor.

After all, young dragon scales might be wonderful protection against trebuchets and arrows, but even they yield to bullets.

Tony is finally settled when the storm roars to life around them, snapping with thunder and lightning. June tenses, but Tony’s mental assurance that the suits aren’t giant lightning rods keeps her steady in flight. His typical battle suits are more susceptible to attract lightning, but the flyte suit—a thinner, sleeker, lighter suit that he wears on long-haul flights with June, painted to match with the black-bronze of June’s saddle—would barely attract a static charge, let alone a lightning bolt.

June startles with a sudden, loud bang of thunder, and says, _Tony!_ Tony leans over, and the suit enhances his vision to the jet, where June is looking.

“Holy shit, is that a _guy_ on the jet?”

The two of them watch as the guy—with a snapping red cape, and a streaming head of blonde hair—forces open the cargo bay, disappears inside. Tony connects to the cockpit of the jet and says, “I think you have a visitor?”

There’s some shouting that the mic picks up, and Tony watches the same red-caped dude jump from the back of the bay, with a dark figure in his grip. Natasha says, “He captured Loki, Stark.”

“Fun,” Tony replies. And then: “Dibs!”

June folds her wings, pivots in air, and then they’re diving, the stormy air whistling by so fast that Tony hoots with exhilaration. Now _this_ is flying—this is what June was made for! Her lithe, long body is built for speed, just as Tony’s suits are: she can pivot and turn on a dime, reach speeds that rival him when she dives.

June agrees joyously, spiraling down as they follow Tony’s trajectory calculations, and make their way to the tagged heat signatures. She flares her wings at the last moment, her talons brushing the treetops before she lifts higher, circling the spot around a mountain where the two figures seem to be…talking? Fighting? Tony can’t tell. June is shrouded by storm clouds at her new height.

“Alright, baby girl,” he says, “Let’s pick him up.”

June dives. The two aliens notice her at the last moment as she emerges from the clouds, swings her back legs down like a bird of prey. Loki, the bastard, ducks out of the way; the other blonde-haired one gets snatched up in her talons, with a pretty comical expression on his face.

June lifts off, circles, and tosses him into the forest below before he regains his wits; as she hovers near where she dropped him, Tony jumps from the saddle and says, _Go get Loki. I’ve got Drapes here._

She eyes him, briefly, but says, _I will be close._

*

June leaves her rider with the other alien, confident of his ability to protect himself; she leaves their minds open, for the potentiality that he may need her. She beats her wings and rises above the trees, making her way to the stone outcropping they left the alien on.

She sees him see her. June is far from stupid: she knows there are few on the Earth who are not afraid of her, what she can do, who she loves. And despite this alien’s nature, he seems susceptible to her form as well. He moves backwards, scrambling briefly away from her as she drops to the stone near him. He stops running, holding onto—pride? Dignity? June is unsure. He allows her to approach.

As she nears him, she stops, flicking her ears forward. There is…something, lingering around this—Tony supplies the word: Asgardian. Something that whispers when he thinks, that falls silent as he speaks.

He says, “I mean you no harm, dragon. This fight I bring is for the Midgardians, not you.”

June dismisses what he says, uninterested. She feels her vision shift, that magic-plume within her that she cannot summon darkening the world and brightening some aura around the alien’s form: something…something she cannot explain, does not know the words for. But her magic knows: it knows, it feels, it reaches out. There is a veil around his head, a weaved thing of green and blue and the color of magic, the brightness of the rays beyond color; it shifts and flows on the currents of his breath.

He is saying something else but she cuts him off by lowering her eyes equal to his, turning her head so she can look directly in his eyes. He goes still, staring right back. The magic-plume recedes, and does not return, so she cannot see the aura still; she can, however, faintly hear the whispering, so soft it is nearly lost in the wind. It is speaking in words from a language she recognizes but does not remember.

She feels Tony become winded by a strike; she sends him an inquisitive feeling, but he responds with little concern. Because he is battling, but without true challenge, she asks him, _where did this dark one come from?_

 _Loki?_ Tony replies. _Shit! Asgard, I think!_ He sends her a vague recollection of information he read about Thor’s first visit to Earth, of the little knowledge he has been able to find. His attention directs away from her, and she lets it, for now.

Returning her mind to Loki, he is still standing still and quiet, watching her. The wind is too strong, now, and she cannot hear what is clinging to him. Is it some spell? Tony told her this one has magic, in some form: perhaps she is capable of hearing it. She huffs her breath over him, and becomes amused at his grimace of distaste, quickly masked.

June reads into him. She has learned how to read the bodies of men: when in the dark-place, she relied on Tony and the soft-unyielding one to tell her what to fear and what to attack. But it was in the dark-place she began to learn to read, to look at a mortal and know what lies within them, to read their secrets and their minds from their skin.

It was that which taught her to fear Obadiah—it was that which made her look at his skin and see a leech in his place. She sees the skin of a liar often, worn by those who clamor for a place at Tony’s side; however, there is a difference between they who lie and they who deceive. Every person lies, even her rider; but those who deceive are insidious, quiet things that seek to harm.

The suspended one, with the fire hair, was a deceiver; June saw her, but she was fogged, distant to her eye. She is distant from June no longer.

This one, the one whose head is shrouded in whispers, is both a liar and deceiver. June can see the lies carved into the lines of his face, in the tremble of his hands. She can see even more, the deeper she looks, through his mask. He is frightened: of her, of other things beyond her and beyond the portal he fell through—that is simple to see. He is furious: at someone who is at once intimately close and achingly far from his soul; that, she can see in the tension of his neck, in the snapping curl of his magic. He is…filled with purpose, but one he questions—that, in the swell of his heaving chest.

He is lost and has not yet been found. That is the truth of him: the thing hidden by the rest. It is the deepest, simplest truth of his being. Not a constancy, but a truth, nonetheless.

It is that truth that comforts her. She feels dark things around deceivers; him, he wears his lies as the skin beneath his armor, and because of this nakedness she is calmed.

She hears a deafening bang and turns her head as she feels her rider get thrown back and surprised. She hears the shrouded one release a great breath as her attention diverts. He has not raised arms against her, so she allows him to collect himself in her peripherals.

 _We’re done here,_ Tony says, his voice like the moonlight that coaxes open flowers. _You good?_

 _He is here,_ she says. She does not tell Tony about what she sees in the people he meets, has not since she allowed herself to hate and told him to kill Obadiah. _I will carry him to the…_ Tony supplies her with an image of the thing she means, a hulking beast that, from beneath looks like the sky. _Yes._

_Come pick me up, baby girl._

She is warmed by the name. She turns to Loki, who once more grows tense under her gaze. She lifts onto her back legs, balanced with her wings, and grasps him around the torso with her front talons. He flails, briefly, making sounds that may have been words; she ignores him as she takes off with the shrouded one in her grasp. She has only held her rider like this while he wears his second-skin, but this one seems stronger than the humans, so she is unconcerned.

He is making odd squawking sounds, however, but he does not seem to be in pain. As Tony intercepts her, settling into a small weight on her back, she checks her cargo—not bleeding, conscious—before opening their minds. She sees his battle in his mind: it was equal, for a time, but halted by the melting one.

_He give you trouble?_

_No,_ June says. _He is a complicated thing._ She hesitates to show him, so she reaches for his cumbersome words. _I heard something on him. Whispers. I do not know what it was._

_You can’t hear it now?_

_No. It falls silent when he speaks. It is quiet, what whispers to him. It escapes me when there is anything else._

_We’ll keep that in mind,_ he says. _I’m sure you’ll have a chance to listen when he’s in a cage._

*

Tony leaves her to sun herself on the open space on the flying-beast. She finds a sunny spot and does so. The humans who appear like ants keep a distance from her, and when she feels their eyes for too long, she raises her head to glare until they scatter.

As she does when Tony goes to speak about his human politics, she closes their connection so the running-flying brightness of his thoughts ceases to distract her. Her human is blindingly intelligent, with a mind and a heart that run away from him—things he does not often bother to catch. He connects too quickly: he connects ideas, physical things, people, all with dangerous ease. June does not connect in this way.

June has precisely one connection, and that is with Tony. The bright one, the one that has been alongside Tony since before June was here, and the child, the one who has no form but rather contorts the world to suit his needs, are the only others that June knows with any certainty. But they are not connections. She has never spoken to them, and they do not know her voice.

June likes this. Tony is her heart, walking astride her. She is his sense, an existence beyond him. She would not have herself distracted by the thoughts or worries of others.

And yet. Even with their closed connection, she can feel the others with him: the melted one, the suspended one, the misplaced one who yearns for someone beyond himself (who came to Tony with stories of a cube that glowed the shade of Tony’s heart), the spooled one with the missing eye. New people, too, surrounding him at every turn, watching and listening, ultimately unimportant. Others, then, closer: one who is raw, twitchy, but June cannot feel more than interest from Tony; the other, the one who struck at Tony before calling him a worthy opponent—a flame, too bright to see beyond itself.

Tony is constantly contained and surrounded by others, who each feel for their own kin more strongly than for his. He speaks with them, laughs with them, shares his food. He makes friends as he does enemies. He is the epicenter of a spiderweb of people, who all know of him, who speak of him when he is away, make decisions over the tone of his words.

Does the shrouded one hold this kind of power? June does not hear whispers when she is close to Tony, but she is in his mind. Perhaps she is the source of the whispers others hear when he draws near.

While Tony is distracted, moving from one place to the next, she asks him, _how is it I speak to you?_

_Gonna have to elaborate on that one, baby girl._

_It is our minds. You do not speak to others this way. How is it I do?_

_Dunno,_ he says, mind both speaking to her and turning over plans, equations, interesting variables that make him pause. _There’s not a lot of literature about dragons here anymore. Most of what’s there is legend. We know it’s telepathic, but not physical—_ here, he unconsciously conjures an image of the odd tests and scans he performed on himself, of the inside of his brain— _so it’s gotta be something with you. Magic, probably._ Here, he’s scoffing, but not insulted: he’s annoyed it exists beyond him.

_Does the shrouded one have this magic, then?_

Tony does not pause over the name; when she speaks of someone, their image passes between them. _Apparently. There’s some security footage—_ she sees it, in their minds: his clothes changing to armor, and then armor to leathers— _but not sure if what you’re talking about is what he does. Why?_

_I wish to know what the whispers say to him. Perhaps our voices, like this, are whispers to others who care to hear it._

_Let me look over his glowstick before you weasel in to see him,_ he says. _He might have planned for you. He’s got one of theirs—he knew about you._

 _They know nothing of me._ June shakes her body as she stands. _Bring this glowstick to me. Perhaps it is the source of the whispers I hear._

 _Are you sure?_ Tony sounds concerned, but not disagreeable. _It can control minds._

_Human minds, perhaps._

_Is that a touch of a superiority complex there, baby girl?_

_I learn all from you,_ she replies. _I wish to see it. Bring it to me or I will come to you._

_Ah, yeah, about that. Fury here doesn’t listen to me._

June scoffs. _Then make him listen. Tell him I will not be denied, or I will do some beastly dragon thing, like cursing his bloodline._

Tony laughs. _That’s my girl! I’m on it, Junebug._

*

“Listen, Fury,” Tony placates, as they lock the scepter in a truly impressive case to be transported up to the top deck, “If you’re really pissed about this, you’re more than welcome to go up there and tell June yourself that she can’t look at it. I’m sure she’ll be agreeable, what with her being a ravenous dragon and all. I’m about 65% certain she won’t eat you.”

“She eats people?” that’s the Captain, his face comically uncertain.

“Not yet,” Tony concedes, “But she’s weirdly focused on ‘consuming my enemies,’ and honestly, I don’t think she knows how to speak figuratively, so there’s that.”

June is radiating good humor through their bond, but also with a worrying degree of pride.

Fury is taking this about as well as Tony expected, which is Not Well. “This is your responsibility, Stark,” he says, enunciating very slowly. “If your dragon ends up a mind slave to that son of a bitch…”

“June’s a fucking dragon, Fury,” Tony replies, indignant, a total explanation. He takes the case and allows one of the SHIELD operatives to handcuff it to him. “She could probably use this thing as a toothpick and be none the more mind-slavey.”

Fury sighs and gestures the okay to escort him out. The captain follows, and they make their uneventful way up to the top deck, where June is sitting under the unobstructed sun. She turns her head as they approach, and glares studiously at all of the other operatives—and Steve Rogers—until they give her and Tony some space.

“Here you are,” he says, for the benefit of all those attending. Mentally, he says, _Please give us something to work on, baby girl. Bruce and I are tracking the tesseract, but this whole situation reeks._

 _I agree,_ June replies, watching as Tony unlocks the case. _Something is rotten here._

She falls silent as he opens the case, baring the scepter. Her pupils constrict to mean slits, body tensing, as she stares at its humming stone.

_June?_

Her ears flick, and Tony physically flinches when June shuts their connection as sharply as slamming a door. He can barely feel her presence at the back of his mind anymore, and his heart stutters in fear with the sudden isolation—he hasn’t been alone in his head for over two years.

“June!” he says, because he’s certain she can’t hear him in their minds. She’s sitting still, tense and ready to pounce, staring at the scepter with her arc-reactor eyes that are leaking with light like he’s never seen. Her lips curl up into a snarl, eyes still unwavering—and an honest to God growl comes bubbling up in the recesses of her throat.

Tony reaches down and slams the case shut, locking it. June roars, and then shakes her head, staggering backwards onto her four feet. Her ears are flicking as though she’s beating away flies from buzzing there, and their connection floods open, a dam breaking.

_June! What the fuck just happened?_

June sends him a series of images and sensations that make no sense to him—like he’s trying to look at a photograph that holds colors he can’t comprehend. They’re bright and flashing and too heavy for his mind to carry. The words within the images are a language that ring in his ears, deafening out all other sounds, whispers and screams and bubbling words of power.

_June, baby girl, use your words. I can’t understand you._

_Tony?_

_I’m here!_ He approaches her, leaving the case as physically far away from them as possible so he can stroke her face and run his fingers around the base of her antlered horns. _What happened, baby girl?_

_I do not know. I…I am confused. I heard—I do not know what I heard._

Tony peers into the one eye he can get a good look in. Her pupils have blown back out to cat-like slits, no longer that odd instinctual look from before. Her eyes have ceased to glow. _You feel like you need to break Loki out of prison, or something?_

_Not particularly. But I do wish to speak to him. I—something rattles in me. I must peer into his mind. If he—or his slaves—have been subject to what I have felt, then they are lost. I can find them._

Tony knows her stubborn, I’m-going-to-do-this-fuck-you tone, and he definitely knows better than to outright deny her. He also knows her mind enough to feel that she’s not hiding something from him or lying about being Loki’s slave.

 _Okay. But not right away. Fury and the crew will think you’re controlled. Give me some time to run interference, and then go from underneath._ Oddly detailed schematics shift from Tony to June, of a tunnel that crawls from beneath the hellicarrier and up into where Loki’s prison resides. _JARVIS and I will be able to give you two minutes if we can control the door remotely. Will that be enough?_

 _More than,_ June replies. Her mind has settled, but there’s a distant buzzing between them that radiates from the memories Tony can’t understand. _I believe I know what has happened here. Perhaps we can avoid this invasion the shrouded one speaks of._

_That’s the spirit!_

Tony turns away from June and picks up the case. It feels much heavier than before. “Okay! Right. So, June’s got some thoughts about this. Let’s get this back to the lab and talk there, huh, Fury?”

*

June waits until Tony sends her, _Go now, baby girl. We’ve got your back._

She takes flight from the deck, quickly gaining speed to keep up with its movements. As she nears one of its hulking edges, she tucks her wings against her body and dives, curling beneath its underbelly. With Tony’s mind clasped in hers, she finds the entrance to the artery-tunnel he knows of, and clings to it upside down until it opens for her—Tony’s doing.

June can pierce the walls of this artery with her talons, but it is too slim to extend her wings. She climbs quickly up its side, and Tony sends her an image tinged with amusement: a small, green lizard darting up the side of a white-stone wall, a memory from childhood.

Ignoring Tony’s amusement, she reaches the top of the artery and forces her way free between a small space of the plug and its side. Her body is barely slim enough to fit, but she wriggles through, climbing onto a platform that creaks beneath her weight. Sniffing, she finds no one in the immediate vicinity—except for the shrouded one, where he stands, silent and still, within a glass cage.

In her mind, Tony says, _they know something’s up. Clock’s on._

Huffing, June slinks to the side of the glass, tapping at it with her talons. The shrouded one takes several steps away from her, but makes it appear as though he merely wanted to be on that side of the cage, rather than running from her. Tony says, _it’s too strong for you to break through as quickly as you need to._

_Can it withstand my flames?_

_Probably not. Neither can Loki, though._

June huffs, amused. _Yes, he can. If he is magic, he can._

June rears back her head, roars, and summons the flames from deep in her belly. A torrent of white-gold flames crashes against the glass, and within seconds, it cracks from the heat; another moment, and the cage shatters.

When it is clear June is not stopping, the shrouded one holds up a magic shield to protect himself, bracing against her power and the heat of her fire. Here, she can feel his magic writhing, formed into a slippery shield before him.

And there, just as the whispering stone had shown her: she can see the core of him, through the fire and the shield, throbbing and glowing at the hollow of his throat. The magic-plume has risen before her eyes, as it had since she gazed upon the whispering stone, and now she can see. She can see his magic, its snapping tendrils.

Under her power, he holds no chance to fight back. He can only weather her storm.

June cuts the fire back with a snap in her throat when she sees the shield weakening before her eyes; after the flames cease, the shrouded one allows the magic shield to drop, hands shaking. Perfect.

His magic is strong, but it is borrowed: he draws from sources beyond himself, that do not replenish as quickly as he has been expending. He had used a portion of his inner source when battling earlier, and she had felt him grow winded upon the outcrop. Now he had weathered her, and she could see, with the uncertain rise of her own magical-sight, that his magic is weakened and shivering from exhaustion; the sneaking, snapping tendrils that exude from him are all but transparent, and the core of him is trembling.

He staggers back as she approaches, stumbling on his feet. He raises a shaking had, and some of the tendrils that remain snap at her; her own magic, one that is not borrowed, wrestles them down. He crawls from her, on his back, his underbelly and throat exposed to her. She barely fits within the cage as she follows.

She reaches for Tony and feels him holding his ground with the other warriors. She trusts him to stay safe, for his armor to protect him if need be. It is only because of this trust that she pinches their connection shut and shields him from her once more.

June lays one foot next to the shrouded one, then the other, bracketing him beneath her. He stops moving, one hand raised in pleading; his face is wide with fear. June lowers her head, nudges his hand away, and places her snout against the hollow of his throat

and _reaches._

*

Loki opens his eyes and watches leaves above him sway on the currents of a sweet-smelling breeze. He observes them shift and move for some time before he sits up, looking around him. This place is achingly familiar to him: the murmuring creek that winds through the clearing before him, the quiet forest beyond the creek, the grassy hill on which he is laying amongst wildflowers, the tree above him in whose shade he sleeps.

He has not been here, to this quiet and peaceful place, in what feels like centuries. It’s a place only he knows of, in the forests beyond Asgard’s capitol, where he would bring his tomes and scrolls to read beneath the shade of the ancient tree there when he was a child. It is his home, his center.

But he’s not alone; he turns and sees a golden-yellow dragon curled around the base of the ancient tree. Its eyes are open, bright-magic blue, and watching him.

Memories come to him slowly. The bifrost, the void, a cage, white-gold flames. A dragon on Midgard.

Loki frowns. “You’re in my center.”

The dragon blinks, a languid and easy motion, and says, “Yes.”

“How?” Loki realizes he should be scared. His center is the most protected part of him, because it is the most vulnerable part. Even the Other had not been able to breach this sanctum. He’d spent most of his time under the Other’s hand cowering here, protected by his ancient-woven shields, surrendering to bodily pain to protect the core of himself. It is where his magic resides, where he locked away the most essential parts of himself: in a memory, a place, that he feels safe.

His center is the ultimate core of his being. And this dragon had reached him, entered him, with only a touch.

“You were tired,” the dragon replies, its jaw unmoving, throat still. Its voice is inhuman, unwarm, but it is calming. “I reached, slipped through. The barriers here let me in. I hold the others out.”

“The others?”

“The void-worms,” it says. Loki looks to where it gestures with its tail and sees something shapeless writhing in the shadows of the forest. They do not approach the creek’s clearing, but he can see their forms, where their squirming bodies blot out the light filtered through the treetops. He cannot see them directly, only where their shapes suck away light. Shivers rise, unbidden, up his spine.

“They’re here?”

“You must have felt them here, in your mind.”

“I did,” Loki replies, softly, unable to take his eyes from the worms. He recalls when they sank into him, as he floated in the void, incapable of escape, of magic, of screaming.

The dragon does not push. They are within his mind; perhaps it has seen the Other, the void—all the choices that brought him to its world.

“You’re keeping them out?”

“Yes,” the dragon replies. It raises its head, and Loki sees a ripple of golden magic at the tree line, a shield against which the void-worms squirm. “I wished to speak with you, whole.”

“Why? Why not kill me, for intending to harm your bonded?”

“He is a warrior. If I sought to consume all his enemies, there would be few humans left on Earth. And you are not out enemy, not yet.”

“Ah,” Loki replies, somewhat weakly. He finds himself meek before this dragon, partially because of its presence in his center—a place so central to his being that if it chose to squeeze, he would perish before he had a chance to scream—and partially because of the legends he has heard of dragons, of their intelligence and ancient power.

 “What do you expect now? You said you wished to speak.”

“Yes.” The dragon rises to its feet, and approaches him; he trembles beneath its size, supplicating by baring his throat. He feels the dragon’s energy now, surrounding him, protecting and imprisoning; he has never been more vulnerable to another living creature.

The dragon sits, and then lays, next to him while watching the creek—and him, in its peripherals. “When I draw near you, I hear whispers. I first thought it your magic, but now that our minds touch, I know your magic is not the kind that speaks. I wished to learn what clung to you, what whispered in your ears.”

Loki shakes his head. “I am crazed,” he replies. “The voices are mine, made real by the nothing of the void.”

“Yes, you are crazed,” the dragon agrees. “But the voices are not the void’s.”

“How do you know? You see those,” he mutters, gesturing to the worms at the edge of the clearing. “Those things have been feeding on me, festering in my mind. I barely managed to protect this place, to keep me…me. But the rest of me is driven to insanity.”

“Not insanity. You are not insane. You are crazed. You looked into the void, survived it, and it gave you a piece of itself.”

“How do you know?”

“I rest in your center, mage,” the dragon replies. “I have laid my head on ground upon which you built your being. I know you as no others have.”

“You know a twisted form of me. Twisted by hate, betrayal—by others, who took my body and my mind and unmade it.”

“No,” the dragon says, again, its voice simple and sure. “I know you.”

Loki takes in a ragged breath, tears his eyes away from the trees to look at the dragon. It’s small, even here in Loki’s mind: it must be young, especially since rumor hasn’t reached his ears of a new dragon born. Midgard is avoided by the beings of other realms, but a dragon’s presence could not be missed for more than a decade.

It turns to look at him. Its eyes are the color of the gem within its rider’s chest, of the small glimpse he caught before his surrender. This dragon’s magic must have imbued it, a permanent form of protection.

“What do you want?” Loki finally asks.

The dragon tilts its head. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want to be free,” Loki replies.

“Of those who plucked you from the void?”

“Yes. The Other, his master. Of the whispers. I know not what whispers to me. You say it’s not the void.”

“No. It is the scepter. I have heard its whispers, clearly now—it spoke to me. I feel its influence now that I rest here.”

“Influence?” The wind sharpens around them. The dragon is unperturbed.

“It tried to influence my human. It spoke to me, in my mind: it told me of its purpose, of its past. You have wielded it. It whispers in your mind, changes your perspective. Now that I shield you from it, you are open: the void-worms and the whispers convinced you of your purpose to take Midgard, but the truth remains that you had to be convinced. You are not controlled by this influence, but you were persuaded.”

“Oh,” Loki realizes, understanding this dragon’s truth. “Even with them in my mind, I am myself. Persuaded to walk this path.”

“Twisted and burnt, but yourself,” the dragon agrees. Time passes without construct. “I can rid you of its influence.”

“Why? I’m your enemy, an enemy of your rider—of your realm! I would have killed whoever I needed to win: you, your rider, his allies—”

The dragon shakes its head, as though ridding its head of gnats. “I know your mind,” it finally says. “I know your magic. I know your pain, as though it is mine. I can cleanse you of the worms, of the whispers. If it were me—my human—I would wish you do the same.”

Loki swallows, and turns away, thinking. He feels the dragon offer him some form of privacy, but it’s so slight since there is another being in his head: there has been, since he fell from the Bifrost. He has not been alone in his mind for years. First the worms, then the influence of the scepter, and now this dragon.

He realizes how clear he feels, in this moment. He has not taken the time to rest in his center like this for centuries. His body feels content, unaching; his mind is filled with sharp, painless clarity. He is touched, briefly, by the fury he has held for Odin, for Thor, for himself; he is touched by the hatred for his birth-father, for the Mad Titan. But it passes, as all things do within his center. It is a tranquil place, that even the knowledge of his heritage could not freeze it over.

But now he is clear. He realizes that he has been tormented by the void-worms, by the voice of the power of the scepter gifted to him, that his very mind has been breached. And now this dragon has offered him sanctuary, however brief—no, has even offered more: a permanent cleansing of the suffering.

“What do you want in return?”

“In return?” It is the first time Loki has caught the dragon off guard.

“You can’t be offering a boon like this without payment,” Loki replies, eyebrow arched. “I know of your kind. A dragon’s deal is more binding than one to a devil.”

The dragon lifts its head, considering him. “We make a deal,” it says, slowly, “and we are bound. In what ways? The mind, by magic?”

“By magic. Should I betray you, I lose my right to magic. My mind, power, body become yours to do with as you please. Or so the stories say.”

“And you would deal with me? Despite what has been done to you?”

“You’re giving me a choice,” Loki says, dryly, hoping it desperately to be a true choice and not merely a façade.

The dragon hums. “I understand. You will feel more secure with my intentions should I require something of you in return.”

“Nothing is free.”

The dragon makes a sound that sounds oddly like laughter. “Very well. I will cleanse your mind, and in return, I ask of you to teach me.”

Loki blinks, dumbstruck. He had been expecting something—more, some great payment of his power to this dragon. Living dragons are covetous: they collect and hoard that which they find valuable. Perhaps this dragon covets ancient knowledge? It _is_ far more intelligent than the few dragons Loki has encountered in the past. “Teach you?”

“Yes. Teach me and my rider magic. You have seen my power, feel it now. I have no control. I wish to learn control. You are a mage of great skill: I feel that now that I rest here, feel your center and its shields. I require power and skill to protect my rider.”

Loki lays down, his mind struggling to understand what’s happening. He feels his mind beyond the dragon’s barrier whirling, but here, the wind remains gentle, the creek soft and chirping. “I do not understand what’s going on.”

“A chance at freedom,” the dragon muses. “A chance at connections beyond those that have been severed. A chance at a new home.”

“Where?”

“With me.”

*

June pulls away from the shrouded one and reorients herself in her own mind. Beneath her, she watches the shrouded one take a great gasping breath, twin tears streaking down his temples at once. Her teeth are still burning from the taste of the void-worms.

“Thank you,” the shrouded one croaks. June cannot see his veil any longer, her magic receding from her eyes. “It’s gone. They’re all gone. Thank you.”

June rumbles, touches her snout to his forehead before she steps away from him. She opens her connection to Tony, and he shouts, _June, fucking answer me! June!!_

 _I am here,_ she says. She learns from his mind that they have been utterly closed to each other for only ten or fifteen seconds. _I am well._

 _Don’t ever do that again!_ His mind is shrieking with fear. It is the second time today they have been separated, and even June feels shaken.

 _I am sorry for scaring you,_ she replies. She turns to the shrouded one, but he is still and quiet on the floor, his hands trembling against his cheeks. She knows he is not going to run from them—he will stay, here, until she beckons him. _I have struck a deal._

 _With Loki?_ Now the instinctual fear in him has transformed into something deeper, closer to dread.

 _Yes._ She does not show him the manifestation of his center, or any of the conversation that took place there. _Later. What has occurred?_

_Everyone’s fucking pissed, but not attacking. They want you to explain what you’re doing. Point break here is about ready to wrestle you for attacking Loki._

_I was not attacking him,_ June replies, indignantly. _I was cleansing him._

_…Okay, baby girl, run that by me again._

June huffs, squeezes her way out of the cage. Behind her, the shrouded one struggles to rise. _The whispering stone spoke to me. It told me of its influence and what I needed to do to cleanse the minds of those it whispers to. I did so with the shrouded one—can do with the others it still croons to._

_Right. And how does that involve a deal?_

_He would not take something for nothing._

Tony sighs. _What did you ask for?_

_A teacher. The whispering stone spoke of many things, in our brief conversation; one of which was my lack of control. The shrouded one can teach me this control._

_Sure, why not,_ Tony replies, in an odd tone that June doesn’t understand. She turns as the shrouded one gets to his feet, staggering. June gestures for him to follow her, and when he staggers on his feet once more, she returns to him and gently picks his body up within her jaws, careful not to bite down.

He does not struggle.

With the shrouded one held close, June wriggles down the artery and goes to join her rider.

*

“What happened?” that’s the Captain, watching Loki curiously. The god is sitting, shackled, between June’s forefeet. The dragon is presiding over him, not letting anyone approach him after Tony convinced her to allow them to cuff his wrists. “You said June subdued Loki? It looked like she just…spit fire at him.”

“She didn’t really fight him,” Tony finally admits. “She, uh, the words she essentially used were ‘entered his mind and cleansed him of its impurities.’”

Thor is the one who looks, equally, the most and least startled. “I have heard the tales of dragons, and their prowess of magic,” he says, glancing at his adopted brother. “But nothing such as this. What impurities did you cleanse, dragon?”

The way he says dragon isn’t an insult: it almost sounds like a formal title. Apparently, he’s not as pissed at her handling of Loki now that the guy’s not spitting mad or talking about his glorious purpose. June rumbles, and says, _it is not my place to speak of his mind. Ask the shrouded one._

“Ask Loki,” Tony shrugs. “She’s not even showing me.”

From the ground, Loki croaks, “If it’s all the same, I’d like a drink.”

Tony chokes back a laugh.

*

June stays on the hellicarrier, both a body guard and a prison warden, while Tony flies to New York and retrieves the tesseract before Selvig can activate his device. Loki had been very specific in the location, and sure enough, Tony gets there before the doctor even connected to the arc reactor’s power.

It takes a relatively light hit to free Selvig of the scepter’s influence, and Tony carries both him and the tesseract to the hellicarrier. Nothing interrupts them.

*

“Let me get this straight,” Fury says, as he watches Thor prepare the tesseract for travel, in a cradle with two handles. Fury had argued until he was blue in the face as to his and Earth’s right to the tesseract’s power, but Thor had put his foot down an hour before. There wasn’t much arguing with a guy that could just drop his hammer on your coattails and you’d starve to death before getting free. “Your dragon made a soul-binding deal with an alien that intended to bring an army down on New York. She cleaned his mind up and now he’s her teacher. And we can’t do a damn thing about it because this deal is literally unbreakable.”

“Sounds about right,” Stark says. June is watching the tesseract as well, her eyes following it no matter where it is. Loki is standing, chained and gagged, near her.

 “What the _actual_ fuck, Stark?”

“Hey!” Tony’s voice is indignant. “I didn’t tell her to do that! June does whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Language,” Rogers calls.

“Eat my dick,” Stark mutters. “Look, Fury, you think I’m happy about this? Loki is at the bottom of the list of people I want talking to my baby girl. According to Thor, he’s like, worst brother of the year. But she wants him to help her, so I’m not gonna do shit. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to tell her she’s not allowed to collect on the deal she made.”

Fury narrows his eyes. It’s the only time in his life the same argument will work twice on him in the same day. He may not know the details of draconic deals, but he knows something he shouldn’t fuck with when he sees it. It’s not often he’s cowed from speaking his mind, but he draws the lines at pissing off dragons that can, apparently, enter minds and shake them around a bit with little to no effort.

Stark smirks. “Yeah. June’s like that.”

Fury sighs. Maybe it was a mistake, underestimating the dragon. The year prior, when Natasha had been evaluating Stark for the Avengers, he had dismissed the creature as too wild—too unintelligent—to be worth her own evaluation. The popular consensus on living dragons was that they were of equal intelligence to mammals like bears, wolves, or birds of prey—thus, nothing to worry about. But now it seems like June is far more intelligent than even Stark lets on. If she’s capable of forging a deal with the God of Mischief, she must be smarter than most humans.

June swings her head around, watching their interaction with her bright blue eyes. Fury feels some instinctive, hindbrain fear reaction at her look, but he’s quick to wrangle it down. Her tail wraps around Stark as he approaches her and the Asgardians.

“We’ll be back in three days, tops,” Stark calls, mostly to Dr. Banner. “We’re just speaking at Loki’s trial, nothing too time-consuming.”

Thor nods, and Tony grasps onto his side of the cradle. June wraps her body around Loki, who doesn’t even stiffen at the close presence of the dragon. She lays her head over the cradle itself, eyes burning with the proximity to the tesseract.

Thor twists the handle and the four figures disappear in a snap of dark light.


	3. Imagine Dragons (Specifically, "Born to Be Yours" Don't Just Imagine Some Dragons, That Would Be Weird)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June, Loki, and Tony transition from "Just Three People That Hang Out Together Despite 2/3 of Them Being Third Wheels" into "Maybe We're All Kind of Friends Now But It's Still Weird And We Don't Talk About It." Also some dude who's been dead for like a hundred thousand years or something reaches out from one of Loki's books to slap some weird-ass draconic history in all of their faces. But mostly June's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gearing up for some capital-P Plot y'all. Buckle up I have this shit planned out.
> 
> This is something of a transitional chapter so it's longer than the others. Something like 4/5 months pass from beginning to end. As stated, June is almost 3 years old.
> 
> Thanks for the read/kudos/comment! Hope you enjoy, and see you Wednesday! (Because yes, I've set up a schedule, and I'm going to stick to it even if it kills me [barring emergencies and such].)
> 
> EDIT: apologies to the early-risers, I fixed the italics in the bottom half of the chapter. If I missed something, please point it out so I can fix it!

June lifts her head from the tesseract’s cage, first looking to Tony to make sure he is safe before surveying their surroundings. They have appeared before a magnificent set of stairs that climbs to a set of closed, golden doors. The entire area—of buildings, cobblestones, decorations—is shining gold, like her scales. The similarities between this place and herself only makes her dislike it.

She may preen and admire the shine of her own scales, but to see it reflected on the world—poorly, too—does not feed her narcissism as it may her rider. The area around them is vastly different than Earth, but not so different that she feels an alien. Something in her bones, maybe her magic, knows this place: or, maybe, it knows of the other places beyond Earth. It is an odd sensation to know this place but to be so alien.

Sniffing the air, she immediately snorts, nearly allowing a spiral of fire to escape between her teeth. The air is heavy-metallic-deep, and it immediately sits deep in her lungs. The smell is off putting, and does not taste fresh like the sweet, crisp air of their home. She relays this thought to Tony, who replies, _it smells like a ren fair._

June doesn’t know what that means, but she accepts the comparison without fuss. The flame-bright one has taken hold of the shrouded one’s arm, and is leading him up the steps, towards the doors. “Come, then, Man of Iron, dragon. The All-Father will be overjoyed to be introduced to the new pair.”

_I’m sure,_ Tony thinks. June shakes her head and stops Tony with her tail when he goes to follow the flame-bright one on foot; she turns her body so he can reach her saddle.

_With me,_ she says. _Let none forget we are together._

Tony glances around and sees the eyes that have become trained on them from the courtyard—figures in armor or flowing cloth. He nods and climbs up to his perch before June tests her footing on the stairs. Finding it lacking, she takes flight, and waits atop the stairs for the others. In their brief time in the air, June can see the sprawling city laid out before them—teeming with life, bustling markets, wanderers. All the roads and streets lead to the great palace they stand beneath.

_What’s our play, baby girl?_

June hums. _The deal cannot be undone. Explain to this All-Father it is my will to have the shrouded-one as a teacher._

_The way Thor’s talking, I’m not sure it’ll be so easy._

_We will think of something. No matter what he says, the shrouded one leaves this place with us._

Tony snorts as the two others appear, unwinded. The shrouded one watches her, and June feels a distant pressure at the side of her mind—something like a prick of one of Tony’s instruments in her flesh. June examines the feeling, but it’s gone before she can get a decent estimation of its purpose. She has an idea, but will wait until they have a moment alone to think to fully explore its possibilities.

The flame-bright one opens the doors, and Tony says, _Keep your chin up, baby girl. Let them know you’re the one to be afraid of in the room._

June lifts her head, peering down at the few within the room beyond. As she walks, she is deliberate in the sound of her talons hitting the floor, of the flaring and rustling of her wings. There is a person—Asgardian—seated on a great seat at the end of the room, wearing more of that off-gold that annoys June for its resemblance to her. This one, like the shrouded one, has the traces of magic around him, as so far as June can tell without the involuntary magic-plume covering her eyes. His one eye burns as it meets hers.

Before they come to rest, June reads this flame eye. He, like the misplaced and suspended ones, is more difficult to read than most, but she can still pull information from his skin. He is not frightened of her: that, in the calm rise of his chest. He is in awe, amused: that, in the color of his eye, in the eagerness of his fingers. He is ancient: that, in the familiarity of his skin. He is a liar: that, in the curve of his mouth she has seen on the face of his youngest son.

June cannot parse his truth, in the few moments she has to read him. But she can see he holds equal love for his children as he does for his realm.

“Welcome, dragon, my sons,” he says. He directs his attention to June. “We have not had the honor of a dragon in these halls for millennia. It is an honor once more.”

June dips her head, an acknowledgement of the pleasantries, but not a concession of authority. She sees both the flame-bright and the shrouded one fall to their knees beside her, the shrouded far less willingly. This is Tony’s world, even if they stand on a different planet: he is the one who speaks in veiled words, who jabs knives disguised as compliments. He speaks in her mind now, a guiding light in the uncertainty of the situation.

“You have brought my sons back to me, and for that, I thank you,” the flame eye continues.

“We didn’t do it just for the fun of it,” Tony says, atop her back. The flame eye’s eyebrows rise; an expression of surprise June recognizes from the bright one’s face. June pivots her back legs so Tony is visible from behind her neck. “Hi, yeah, I’m here. Tony Stark.”

“Ah, you are the dragon’s rider, then? Welcome. Few mortals have ever witnessed Asgard as you have—only but the riders of high dragons, like yourself.”

“Cool,” Tony says. “Anyway. We’re here for Loki.”

“For Loki?”

“Aye, All-Father,” the flame-bright one agrees, standing from his knee. He lifts the shrouded one with him. “June, the dragon of Stark, has made a binding deal with Loki.”

The flame eye’s expression is too complex for June to fully understand. Although she has lived amongst these faces for her entire life, their expressions are so ranged and difficult to translate she finds herself relying on Tony’s interpretation to understand the second, subtle conversation—the one carried beneath the words.

“I see,” he says. “I would have this spoken by the dragon, then.”

“She doesn’t really talk to anyone,” Tony replies, flying from the saddle to stand beside her. His head crests close to her underbelly. “I’ve been told I’m an awesome translator, though.”

The flame eye shakes his head. “Nay. The dragon speaks. Use your rider’s voice, June, dragon of Stark.”

_You can do that?_ Tony asks.

_Evidently so,_ June replies. She watches the flame eye, and then looks down to her rider, the flame-bright, the shrouded. The latter is watching her with eyes that, for all they expressed, may as well have been closed.

_I apologize,_ June eventually says. She can see the stubbornness in the flame eye’s body, a refusal of another option plain. Tony mentally shrugs and wedges open their connection so June can reach for him, clasping their minds tightly together. Some time ago, they had experimented in the strength and flexibility of their bond; then, they had been able to see through each other’s eyes, but it gave them both headaches for days afterward.

Now, she reaches for the parts of his mind that speak. Tony allows her, relaxed and vulnerable, and gives her the room she needs to take hold of his throat and his tongue. However, June’s control is heavy-handed, even within the familiar space of her rider’s mind, and she ends up grasping most of his senses. Her vision shifts from her high-up place and lowers to that of Tony’s, and she knows she has turned his eyes the same color as hers.

June works Tony’s jaw before she says, in his voice, “There are but two individuals that have heard my words directly. My rider, your son, and now you.”

“It is an honor we will remember for eons to come, dragon,” the flame eye replies. He looks far more imposing from Tony’s height than he did from June’s normal eyeline. From within her skull, where Tony’s mind has retreated, she feels his amusement at seeing the flame-eye from so high up.

“I ask of you, dragon, to explain the deal you have brokered with Loki. Many have made such deals, but few appreciate the outcome.”

“I am not a mortal, easily fooled,” June replies, pushing as much haughtiness into Tony’s voice as she can. As it happens, she has no idea how to control the inflection of his nimble vocal chords and so does not hear the difference during her attempt.

“Nay,” the flame eye agrees. “But he is called silver-tongue for a reason, dragon.”

They talk like this for some time, which passes with no physical markers: the light in the throne room comes only from torches, which never seem to burn low; there’re no windows to judge where the—nearest star that acts like Earth’s sun? would be in the sky, and there are no clocks to watch the time pass. June stays remarkably still, both in body and mind, but despite her gentleness, she can feel Tony grow wearisome. He shifts her body, growing tense when her talons scrabble on the stone floors; she can feel him rustle her wings, but struggle to control them to stabilize her weight.

June lifts Tony’s chin, and beside her, her own chin lifts, synchronized to the thought—Tony’s exhaustion evident in his inability to stop it. “I grow tired of circles,” she says, cutting off the flame eye from repeating his tales of Loki’s ability to worm out of any deal he’s made. He has been adamant upon his insisting, demanding to know of the specifics of the favors exchanged despite her refusal to elaborate. She listens to Tony’s advice and continues, “I completed a favor for the shrouded one. I required a favor in return from him. I will elaborate no further, but the shrouded one’s favor _will_ be paid to me. I do not see how his trickery changes this.”

“You must understand, dragon,” the flame-bright one speaks, and he, similar to the flame eye, is much more imposing from Tony’s vantage point. “Loki has committed treason against Asgard as well as Midgard. We, too, are to be paid for his actions.”

_Don’t let them back you into a corner of who owes who,_ Tony tells her. His weariness does not dim his intellect.

“I _must_ do nothing, bright-flame,” June replies, plucking from conversations she has heard Tony have in the past, with those who insist on telling him what he can and cannot do. Many of them are with the bright one, with the hair of fire. “The shrouded one’s actions before he came to my realm are not my concern.” A sudden strike of inspiration shoots through her, surprising both herself and Tony: she recalls another piece of the hurried and brimming conversation with the whispering stone and continues, “the moment he touched his feet to my Earth, he became my responsibility. His time in the void is punishment enough for this treason you speak of.”

“Time in the void?” the flame eye echoes. Beside them, June sees the shrouded one grow tense. Knowing of the betrayal this flame eye laid onto his shoulders that influenced his actions, June refuses to give more.

“It is not your concern, as the shrouded one is not yours.” After a beat listening to Tony’s advice, she continues, “Unless you would outright deny me my claim, flame eye.”

His eye flares bright with anger-surprise-inevitability. “Nay, dragon,” he replies. “I would never deny one such as you anything you claimed. It is true: I have known of Loki’s time in the void. If you have peered into his mind and seen him punished, then it is so.”

“It is so,” June echoes. There’s a sensation running across her own body, a phantom feeling; it’s the presence of magic, but while the majority of her mind resides within Tony’s skull, she cannot feel it truly. Tony’s mind, however, itches, and his discomfort makes June pull Tony’s mouth up in a sympathetic snarl.

The flame eye strikes the bottom of his spear upon the ground. “Here it be said: Loki, son of Odin, is released to the custody of June, dragon of Stark, the protector of Midgard. All past crimes have been punished and are forgiven. All actions henceforth made by Loki are actions made under her eyes.”

*

Tony gives a bow of his head—mirrored by June, above him once more—as Thor escorts them out of the throne room, into a different part of the gold-plated palace. Loki holds his arms out impatiently to his brother after they are free from the All-Daddy’s sight and works the gag off with his own hands when he’s free.

While Loki frees himself, Tony says to June, _that felt too easy._

June agrees.

Loki turns on his heel, probably to escape Thor, but pauses at the doorway. He turns back to the three of them, and bows. “Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly. “I will be in the gardens, if you need find me, dragon, rider.”

He disappears. Thor deflates with a heavy sigh.

“He is my brother,” he says, after a moment. “But he has never been so far from me. I did not know…no one can survive the void.”

Tony pats his shoulder in what he hopes comes off as a sympathetic gesture. “Yeah, well. Family’s always a bitch.”

June huffs a laugh above them, cutting of Thor’s reply. _I will follow the shrouded one,_ she says. _When you are done here, find me._

“Well, I think we’re done here,” Tony says immediately as June stands and disappears where Loki did, ducking through the doorway. “Look, point break, your palace is great, love the décor, but June and I aren’t really here for sightseeing. I’m just gonna—”

“There will be a feast, for your honor!” Thor booms, Loki all at once put off to the side. “It is true, what the All-Father says of dragon-kind. I never dreamed of witnessing such an event! The festivities will last for six days and nights!”

“Ah, well, that’s really cool,” Tony replies, “But, look…uh…” He’s at a loss for words. He doesn’t know shit about Asgardian politics, or what’s considered a soft letdown here, so he hedges his bets and says, “Thor, buddy, I love a week-long party just as much as the next guy, but June’s worn out. She’s done a bunch of flying in the past two days, and this isn’t…her realm, you know? Besides, she’s only two. Can’t bring a two-year-old to a party, right?”

 Thor frowns. “So young?”

“Yup,” Tony replies. “And we can’t be away from Earth for too long. Can’t have its dragon off on another realm partying, right? Look, we’ll say our piece, make an appearance, but we really can’t stay.”

“Will you and the dragon June be willing to light the hearth?” Thor asks, hopefully. “We surely understand the call of duty, but these festivities are in celebration of the return of the high dragons.”

June hums in their connection. _I will do so._

“Sure thing, buddy.”

*

_Thanks for throwing me under the bus there,_ Tony mutters to June. He’s lost in the palace, but June’s leading him out with small mental nudges.

_I do not know what you mean,_ she says, despite knowing exactly what he meant.

_Traitor,_ he replies. He waves to two burly armored dudes who pass him, and they eye him with distrust until they realize his hand is marked. They bow. He’s used to being recognized on the go, but that’s a new one.

June huffs. _And what would I have done? I will not take your voice as I did before. Both my head and teeth ache. Were you doing nothing but clenching my jaw while you were here?_

_Hey! I’ve still got double vision, so I’m the one that should be complaining! Besides, my neck is cramped—were you just craning my head up the whole time?_

_Yes,_ comes her reply, just as Tony exits the palace, and finds himself at the entrance of a rather lovely hanging garden on a large, expansive balcony. It’s all fancy stonework with inverted pots, flowering vines, and neatly placed fauna within the stone. _You are very small. It was disconcerting._

Tony rolls his eyes. June’s been needling him about his height ever since she was a year old, when her head shot past him. He glances around, and eventually finds June sunning herself on a nearby veranda, rumbling pleasantly. Tony rubs at the scales on her belly for a while before he asks, _where’s Loki?_

June gestures with one of her talons, and Tony looks over to see him sitting under the shade of a well-manicured tree. He’s not looking at either of them.

Tony takes the opportunity to take a long look at the god. Between the first time they met and now, he looks remarkably healthier—like, weirdly so, since it’s only been a day. His skin is much warmer, less sickly, and his eyes are calm and still in his head. He doesn’t look particularly evil, like Thor and Odin were trying to impress upon June—definitely not like someone who tried to commit genocide over jealousy. But then again, Tony may be a bad judge of character when it comes to that, if the jury would be so kind to direct their attention to Exhibit A: Obadiah Stane.

June catches that thought, and says, _But I am._

_And? What’s your judgement?_

June pauses, uncharacteristically. After a moment or two, she dodges the question and says, _Tony. We once promised we keep no secrets._

_Yeah, we did._

_It is because of us—of that oath, of how I know you—that I tell you this. You are my human—the one to whom I hatched and would always hatch. Nothing will change this._

_Spit it out, baby girl._

_I have a connection to the shrouded one._

Tony blinks, and snaps his eyes to her. She’s watching him with an eerie stillness, but not one that seems particularly guilty.

_A connection? Like—a mental thing, like we have?_

_Yes. Here—_ and then, June tugs his mind towards hers, and places his attention on a place within her mind…and, yup, Tony can feel what she’s talking about: it feels like a divot in a wall, an indentation forming a thread that leads away from her. It’s small, but there.

_Holy shit. What…I don’t…_

_Tony,_ June says. Her voice is calm, ever so calm. _Like I said, nothing has changed between you and me. This connection is a minor one. We cannot speak through it now; I can barely sense his weight there._

_But it’s there._

_Yes._

_How?_

June twists so she’s lying on her belly and places her head in Tony’s lap, covering his legs entirely. He realizes his hands are sort of shaking. He hides this by playing with the base of her antlers.

_I cannot know for certain,_ she says, _but I believe it formed when I touched his mind. I was in his center, Tony—in the only place that remained himself. Or perhaps this link is there because of the deal we made._ Distaste crosses. _A leash, if you must._

_What does this mean, then?_ Tony’s trying to jam down this weird jealousy-anger that’s bubbling up in his gut, but he knows June can feel it.

_It means we are connected. It also means you and he are connected through me. It may only last until the deal is done, or not even as long._ When Tony doesn’t reply, she continues, more forcefully, _Tony. It is you that I love. You are mine, and I am yours. We are dragon and rider. That does not change._

_Okay,_ he says, and tries to believe it. He says it twice more and starts to believe it by the third.

_Okay,_ she repeats after she feels the building sincerity.

_What now?_ Tony’s just been along for the ride so far, honestly. This is June’s show, all of it: Loki, the scepter, being here in Asgard, even her speech about being responsible for Earth (weird as that was. June has never exhibited any interest or protective instinct beyond Tony or her territory in Malibu and the tower, let alone for the whole fucking planet. Tony suspects June knows why she said that but doesn’t quite believe it yet. He’ll have to talk to her about that another time, once they’re back on their own aforementioned fucking planet).

_Now you go and speak with him._

_Me? Why?_

_Because he is going to be living with us for the foreseeable future,_ June dryly replies. _Because he is connected to my mind, which is bonded with yours. Because he is a man who looks like he needs someone to talk to._ A beat. _He looks lonely._

Tony almost growls at her. Now that’s a low blow. She knows how he hates seeing people look downtrodden and she tends to take advantage when it suits her. Like right now.

June nudges him, and says in a much quieter voice, _Tony_ _, if you do not like him, I will set him loose from the deal after one lesson._

_What?_ Tony nudges her right back. _I’ve been able to tell you’re excited about learning magic. You can’t give that up so fast._

_I am. But that excitement does not eclipse my love for you. If you do not think he is safe for us, it will be done with._

Tony’s heart melts. _Fuck, baby girl._ He laughs—not wetly, fuck you—and wraps his arms around her head, a little awkwardly. _Okay. I’ll go talk to him._

_Thank you. Be careful with him_ , she advises. _He is still adrift. I will not be listening._

*

At first, Tony’s skin itches when June shuts their connection. It’s not total, like before, but being even remotely alone in his head makes his heart race. But after a moment, it passes, and he can still feel her, the warmth-steadiness of her mind. That steadiness anchors him.

He makes his way over to Loki, thinking about Dr. Banner, temporary madness, and a very specific fear-induced desperation he himself became very well acquainted with in Afghanistan. The whole “trial,” if you could call it that (since June had decided the outcome before they had even started) had brought a handful of things to light about Loki’s actions on Earth—especially the whole under duress part. Odin had become a touch of a weird combination of melancholy-tense when June had brought up the influence of the “whispering stone,” which was her name for the scepter, and that concerned him.

Loki glances up at him when Tony stops by his side. The height difference—Loki sitting, Tony standing—immediately puts them both on edge, so Tony sits down in the grass next to him, watching the flowers and leaves on the hanging pots and bushes in front of them dance in the breeze. He’s wearing comfortable clothes that make him stand out in this Leathers R Us realm.

“That whole shitshow the story of your life?” Tony asks, after a moment of silence, gesturing vaguely back towards the direction of the throne room. Loki’s brows raise as he turns to look at him, and whatever he sees there makes the corner of his lip quirk.

“You have no idea,” he replies. His face smooths. “Have you come to warn me off? Your dragon made many decisions without you, Stark.”

Tony scoffs. “She’s a big girl, and I trust her,” he replies. “And I’m not gonna warn you off. You haven’t done anything to us.”

“I would have,” comes the tight statement.

“Yeah, sure. But you didn’t.”

Loki makes a distinct noise of irritation.

“Look,” Tony continues when Loki doesn’t speak again. “I don’t know you, but everyone I talk to has a bunch of gossipy shit to say about you—Thor, One-Eye in there, even SHIELD back on Earth. And I did a little reading on the Vikings when Thor came down, and wow, if even half of those stories are true, Comet, I’m paying for your lifetime subscription to psychotherapy.  But anyways, this might surprise you, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. You know why?”

The gaze Loki is leveling Tony with right about now could mean a dozen different things, so Tony just keeps going. “June likes you. And she doesn’t like anybody, Comet. I’m serious—she’s been around this woman I know basically since she hatched, and June barely looks at her when I’m not around. But you? She took one look at you and basically said: ‘I’m keeping this one.’ And that tells me you’re all right. Or good enough for us.”

Tony shrugs, looking away from the god’s face. “I don’t know you. Maybe you would have done some horrible stuff, if June hadn’t helped you. But I can’t judge you on what you would have done or wanted to do or whatever. Hell, I can barely judge you on what you _have_ done, based on the shit _I’ve_ done.”

Loki, after a moment, says, “You’re telling the truth,” in a mystified, awed voice that’s so soft Tony almost misses it.

“Yup,” Tony replies, because he’s a dick and doesn’t know how to respond to that kind of emotional vulnerability with any meaning. “Cross my heart.”

They sit in silence for a while. Tony lets the conversation fade, and just enjoys being outdoors and without any immediate responsibilities. The gardens are actually really nice—the calm air up here even helps ease Tony’s headache that June gave him. He can still feel her, dozing, but does not reopen their connection yet to words. It’s…even nice to be alone in his head for a moment, after being in June’s for over an hour. But only for now.

“I’m having the revelation,” Loki says, without prompting, “that should your dragon not have plucked me out of that cage when she did, I would have followed a much darker, much different path than the one that is now laid out before me.”

Tony finds his face softening as he tilts his head just so, catching a glance at June through wavering leaves, where she’s laying across the garden. “I’ve gone through similar revelations,” he admits.

Time passes again, and Loki turns his body to face Tony more fully. “If you will not require it of me, I will still say it,” he says, looking annoyed at having to take the initiative. “The dragon—June—has given me an invaluable gift. Her price she asks of me does not equal that which she offered. You may rest easy in my loyalty. Both you and her—fought for me, here. I will not forget it.”

Tony grins at him. “Yeah, I don’t require any blood oaths of loyalty or whatever. But thanks. And I’m not worried about you betraying us. Cause if you do, June will eat you.”

Usually people get fidgety when he brings up the whole June-likes-the-taste-of-human-flesh joke (that may or may not be a joke, Tony’s not sure yet). But Loki just cracks a devious in-on-the-joke grin, and says, “I would expect nothing less, Stark.”

*

At the feast that night, June lights the ceremonial hearth, and roars loud enough to shake the ceiling. The Asgardians respond in kind, roaring and stamping their feet and weapons. Tony, atop June’s back, winces at the noise.

But, like he promised, they stay for only the briefest of appearances before June makes her way out of the feasting hall. Smartly, the Asgardians keep their hands to themselves as June stalks down the central aisle between the long tables. Tony sighs in relief once they’re outside, and tells June, _glad that’s over with._

June makes a sound of agreement and stretches her wings. Her mind is filled with contentment, and Tony can practically feel how full her belly is. The Asgardians had directed her towards some of their domesticated livestock (weird looking things, with floppy ears and udders) earlier in the day and given her free reign to eat as many as she liked.

Feeling lazy, June takes a slow spiraling flight around Asgard, both of them surveying the capitol and its neighboring forests before they land on one of the massive balconies on the palace, where their quarters are located. The balcony is large enough for June to sleep there, but also for her to get inside and sleep on the floor around the massive, fur-laden bed inside.

Tony collapses into the bed. June makes herself comfortable inside, curls close to the hearth, the firelight twinkling off her scales. After some amount of time watching her, Tony takes an armful of the furs from the bed and pads over to her, cocoons himself against her belly, and falls asleep under the warm-bronze tent of her wing and with her heart beating above his head.

*

Thor, Odin, and a very lovely woman named Frigga come to send them off. Embarrassingly, Thor almost chokes up when he sort of forces Loki into a hug, but he’s dry-eyed by the time he embraces Tony in just the same way.

“May wing remain strong at your back,” Frigga says when June gets tired of the pleasantries and gestures Tony to climb into the saddle. “We do hope you return to Asgard. All of you,” she adds, looking towards Loki. Tony watches him hesitate, and then resist giving his mother a confirmation. Instead, he bows—in what feels like a mocking way, but Tony can’t quite tell.

“Thank you,” Tony says, for all of them, since Loki still is working through his numerous family issues. Tony’s wearing the flyte suit but keeps the helmet clear for now—the saddle registers and locks him in place. They’d tried traditional saddling at first, what with straps and everything (June’s insistence) but the tech really won out here. Doesn’t hurt that when they do their death spirals during a dive, nothing short of the hand of God could get his ass out of that saddle and its magnetic field.

Loki is standing at June’s side, obviously waiting to be picked up by June’s teeth or her talons. June eyes him, and then lingers on Tony’s interpretation of Odin’s behavior, before asking him, _shall he ride with you?_

Tony’s surprised but shouldn’t be: he hadn’t been lying when he had told Loki June liked him. _You good with that?_

_I would not say so if I was not. Showing the flame-eye his shunned son holds the favor of a dragon will do wonders for the shrouded one, I imagine._

Tony chuckles in their connection but kept his face smooth and smiling. Quickly, Tony takes stock of how he feels about sharing this with another person—but finds that he’s far more okay with it than he was about the connection thing. They haven’t brought it up since, but Tony’s mostly good with it. Now, he’s excited to be able to share this experience with someone June likes—mostly for June, yeah, but he likes doing things for her.

Tony gestures towards himself, a sweeping come-here motion. “Come on up, Comet. If you’re taking us the long way around, you should be up in the pilot’s seat, yeah?”

Loki looks shell shocked, but quickly masks it, even though Odin can’t see his expression from here. Tony and he lock eyes, testing each other out, before Loki nods and turns to June, where she’s watching him. He bows low—much lower than he did to Odin—and says, “I thank you, great dragon, for this honor.”

June snorts, in the privacy of their minds—but even with the amusement, Tony can feel her delight in being thanked. Outwardly, she just blinks, nods, and lifts her head.

Loki takes a moment to catch his quickening breath and allows Tony to help haul him up to the saddle. It’s not exactly built for passengers, but there’s enough space for Loki to perch if he presses up against Tony’s back. It’s—cozy, is a word that comes to mind.

Holding onto what amounts to the pommel of the saddle, Tony offers a salute to the Asgardians, and knows they make one pretty picture. A mortal, in a sleek bronze-black metal suit, a dark-sheep Asgardian son holding onto his hips, both sitting astride a six-meter-long dragon, with honey red antlers, yellow diamond scales, head held high, wings spread—the proudest creature in the palace.

June lifts her wings and takes flight. Loki immediately tightens his limbs—legs into the saddle, arms around Tony—as they lift into the air and away from the palace. As they gain altitude, Tony says, “Good riddance,” and grins when his passenger allows himself a delighted laugh, loose and free and awe-inspired.

*

The long way around turns out to be a trip between realms, which means Loki opening a rift between Asgard and Midgard, large enough that June can fly through. He can’t make a big enough direct connection for all of them—the realms aren’t pressed together in physical (or metaphysical) space—but he can close the distance drastically. That’s, at least, what he can explain in Tony’s ear.

The space between realms turns out to be just that: space. But it’s not like the vast emptiness of space Tony’s come to expect, what with all the chattering about the void and its nothingness. Rather, it’s filled to the brim with shifting shapes and forms that Tony’s can’t quite comprehend. He knows they’re there, but he can’t… _see_ them. He can feel them there, like he can feel air, or gravity.

He feels Loki’s voice more than he hears it: “And may you see what we do, Stark.”

It feels like Loki placed a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, for how sudden the change occurs. The shifting masses blossom into rivulets of stardust, the forms around them into twisting leaves of matter, connected to trunks and branches of magic. He can’t see the color of the magic, but he can see its outline; now, this empty-filled space is the most beautiful place he has ever been.

June is flying both quickly and slowly, darting through the branches and gliding amongst its leaves with no effort. The stardust dewdrops catch her wings, or pop against the tines of her antlers. Tony reaches out and catches one, feels it gently burst in its hand; the stardust coats his suit, makes it shine.

“Oh, wow,” he finds himself breathing, unable to stop gazing all around them. It’s like they’re traveling between the branches of a massive, ancient tree; like they’re just an animal, searching for home, a singular collection of universal cells made one and many and whole and apart.

“What is this place?”

“Yggdrasil,” Loki replies. His voice echoes and exists only in Tony’s ear. “The World Tree. It is what connects the realms.”

This isn’t the void. There’s too much here: too much magic, life, teetering too close to the very edge of creation to ever be like nothingness. This is so much more.

They spend an indeterminable amount of time here, catching the rivers of dust as they flow over June’s wings and brushing the leaves with their fingers. Tony catches Loki reaching out to let his fingers drag across the surface of the branches more than once, his nails and skin shining like he dipped his hand in the ruins of a dead star.

Eventually, June says, _bring us home._

Loki hears. He opens another tear, and when they fly through, the everythingness of that place vanishes, and they are buffeted by sudden winds that jerks June ten, twenty feet upward before she regains control. Tony hadn’t even realized there hadn’t been wind there: no air pressure, no wind resistance.

Tony puts his helmet on, and says, “Hey, JARVIS,” as the HUD establishes itself. “Can you get a GPS lock on us, buddy?”

“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS replies. “You are currently above the town of Sundance, Manitoba, Canada. Estimated time of arrival to Stark Tower: 2.3 hours.”

Tony relays this information to June and settles in for an easy flight home. The wind is pulling strongly at them, chilled and snow-bitten, but June radiates enough body heat to keep them warm. He feels Loki settle in as well, looking over towards the ground, watching the land soar by beneath them. It’s an amazingly scenic flight: over national forests of sprawling trees and along the shores of the Hudson Bay, racing flocks of birds, dipping in and out of nimbus clouds above them. They cross into the US after skimming down close enough to Lake Ontario to get their feet wet and make it to New York just after the sun sets down to sleep on their right side. The sky is fading to a fruity orange-pink when the city skyline greets them on the horizon.

Loki stays quiet the entire trip, but he never releases his easy grip on Tony’s body—either his shoulders or his waist remains an anchor for Loki to grasp.

*

June raises her head as Loki approaches her, in the penthouse of Stark Tower. Stark had built the massive curtain wall to open for her, so she can sprawl inside, bask in the sun there. Loki likes the view this place offers over the sprawling, moving city.

“Let us begin,” he says. June’s ears—much like the curved, gentle ears of fawn, that dart and twist at the slightest sound—swivel toward him before the rest of her head follows.

Once more, Loki is struck by her: her head is angular and cautiously sloped, with shingled scales of yellow and gold flowing over ever line and crevasse; her antlers sprout from the musculature that runs from nostrils to eyes to skull, the tines pointed and ever growing; her eyes glow bright and blue and piercing, slashed through with a voided slit. The light from the sun dances over her body, streaming like water, catching all the hues of bronze and gold and yellow, sharp colors that pierce the eye. Her magic is unspeakably ancient, stirring in the air like smoke in a primordial graveyard.

Loki pulls himself free, shakes his head. This dragon is barely free from its shell—and she relies on him, now, to shape that magic from its rawness now into the stuff of legends.

He sits before her, waits until she shuffles her various limbs and settles before him. He opens his mouth to begin his rehearsed speech of magic, seidr, the ancient ways, and known draconic history, but is stopped by the politest of knocks against the shields of his mind.

He blinks. June watches him expectantly. He opens his mind, and hears June say, _this should be easier_. Her voice, here, sounds just as he recalls it: no warmth, but lined with feeling.

“You can reach my mind? Without physical touch?” Loki asks, but mostly because he’s having trouble accepting the fact despite the absolute proof.

_Yes._

Loki feels a brief well of panic but squashes it beneath his boot. Fear is pointless, not when this dragon has curled within his center and did no more damage than pat down a patch of wild grass there. Her residing in the fringes of his mind is nothing.

“Well,” he says, “it certainly will be easier this way. Very well.”

Loki rehearses his speech to her through their minds, quicker and more efficient than his mouth; this way, they converse over the most basic of concepts and spells with ease. Loki finds June an eager and skilled student, who surpasses his plans for the day by milestones. She manipulates and speaks to magic much differently than he does but takes to the lessons nevertheless. Her way is different, but boundless in its potential for learning.

Her magic is endless, it feels; there is a deep, ageless source within her that pulses and snaps like a solar flare, never growing weary. Loki is far from weak, but placed before this creature, he knows he will be but an ant to the swell of her mountainous strength before long. He draws from Yggdrasil, capable of a thousand forms of manipulation, but he is not and never will be a source of that power. This dragon is: the marrow of her bones creates magic as easily as it does blood.

It was not only honor and the potential for clarity that brought him to ally himself with this dragon. Loki is proud, but he knows that June will carry the memory of him far into the future, may protect the descendants of his blood for eons to come, should he do her right. And he intends to never find himself on the wrong side of a powerful being’s favor again.

The Mad Titan may seek the greatest powers, but if Loki can nurture this dragon’s power into something unstoppable, even he will buckle beneath her strength.

And then, Loki will truly be free.

*

Coulson says, “Oh, he’s living with you now?” when Loki emerges from the hall, mug of tea and some massive, unreadable tome in hand; the agent watches Loki make his way over, still in that smiling-careful stance that always makes Tony nervous for reasons he can’t explain.

“That’s an affirmative from me,” Tony replies, from where he’s backed into the penthouse couch, trapped there by Coulson’s deliberately placed body. “Like I’m not going to have the best for my girl, Agent, come on. Live-in tutor or bust.”

Loki slips past Coulson, batting at Tony’s legs so he’ll lift them from the coffee table, letting Loki pass. He drops the book on the table, sips his tea, and says, “June is an excellent pupil, but we are most productive at the twilight hours,” as he sits down next to Tony. He looks good today: a dusky button down, loose tie, dark trousers. Tony wonders if he bought Loki the wardrobe or if JARVIS did. Either way, it means Tony has great taste.

“Domestic,” Coulson says. He smiles at Loki before telling Stark, “We were inches from a situation requiring the Avengers, Mr. Stark. Since you brought your dragon into the picture, how about you let us in on what you’re planning with this magic? If the stories are to be believed…”

“Stories, smories,” Tony waves away. “Everything we know about dragons is either the product of a ten-thousand-year game of telephone or has been beautifully animated into a coming-of-age story about adorable Vikings and Nightfuries.”

“Even so,” Coulson continues, smiling still. “June is a lightning rod of attention, Tony. We can’t just trust it’s all going to be the good kind. If you help us, we can help, too. We have several magical consultants on hand that could assist in teaching her.”

“June is off limits, Coulson,” Tony says, with a smile in return that is far more pointed than before; he’s still smiling when he says, “so I’m not really inclined on helping you fill up your pretty little file on her. Oh, and the next time your group spies on her? I send it back in pieces. Even if it’s a person. Yeah?”

Coulson nods, an acknowledgement of Tony’s stonewall. “Keep in touch, Mr. Stark. You’re still on call if something like this happens again.”

Tony waves his hand, a dismissal of both word and man. Loki watches him leave, and observes, “They want to know what June can do.”

“Mostly just what she can do for them,” Tony snorts, rubbing his head because, damn, dealing with SHIELD fucking sucks. He gestures to the tome with his elbow. “Some light reading there, huh, Comet?”

Loki narrows his eyes. “This,” he says, with emphasis, “is _The Collection of Draconic Oral Legends_ by Songül, rider of Mesnatre.”

“You say that like it means something to me.”

“You know not of Songül?”

“Is there an echo in here or something?”

“I thought Midgard isolated, but you are a rider,” Loki scoffs. He gestures to the massive book and finally says, “Songül was a rider many millennia ago, who, with the permission of the sect of high dragons, collected and transcribed the ancient stories of the history of dragon kind. Draconic culture was entirely oral, passed from ancient dragons to hatchling in what amounted to one sitting. This is the first—and only—transcription of those legends. It is fortunate Songül did so, as not even four hundred years would pass after their death before the Vanishing.”

Tony leans forward. “Sounds suitably ominous. Vanishing?”

“Yes. The Vanishing is the name for the six-decade period in which all the high dragons of the realms disapeared. The details are lost to time—the dragons were gone before even Odin’s birth—so it is unknown if the dragons were killed by others, killed each other, left the realms in a migration event, or some other event entirely. The stories and theories are numerous, but there is no way to know the truth of it.”

“So, what you’re saying is that there’s no more high dragons left. Anywhere.”

“Yes. Except for June.”

“Odin did say something about high dragons returning,” Tony realizes. “How do you know? That she is one, I mean.”

“For one, she has you. Only high dragons require a rider in order to reach maturity. All other dragon species do not—they cannot even form a telepathic link, let alone sustain one for any stretch of time. Her magic is also suitably ancient and powerful. Other dragons have basic control over elements.”

“And this is a…big deal?”

“Certainly,” Loki replies. “I would not have agreed to her deal if otherwise.”

Tony sits back. “What does it mean? For her.”

“It means she will usher a new era for the nine realms,” Loki replies, easy as can be. “Or, perhaps not. There is no way to tell, not while she is so young.”

Sighing, Tony says, “That sounds great.”

“You are suitably enthused,” Loki replies, dry. “I have read _The Collection_ once before, but with June progressing as she is, I thought it worth another reading. Perhaps there is something here that will guide us.”

*

June is not in the penthouse living space, where she usually sprawls at this time of day to sun herself before lessons. Loki glances out towards the sky (she is not there) before he descends to the workshop to ask Stark where his dragon is.

His and June’s mental connection, quasi-permanent as it is, is only one way. Loki can scream down the thread as much as he likes, but it is only June that can open it fully from her side; her shields are impenetrable and unscalable and Loki has no desire to try and break them down. He does value his life; after all, it has only just been returned to him. Loki can hear June’s thoughts that are directed towards him even when his shields are up, buzzing there in the absolute peripheries of his consciousness. And so: a one-way communication-only mental thread that Loki has little control over.

Of all the things to be attached to his mind, it is far from the worst.

Loki disembarks from the elevator and sees June beyond the locked glass that stops Loki from entering the forge. At first, he thinks she is fighting something; she’s locked down in a defensive stance with her tail towards him, jerking her head back and forth, wings flared and beating periodically. The disembodied servant, JARVIS, had not alerted Loki to any intruder, and his own personal wards within these rooms has not been triggered; however, Loki knows there can be danger nevertheless and draws upon his seidr, prepares to—

June’s head pulls more fully to the right, and with it comes Stark, holding onto the knotted end of a thick rope. He’s lifted off his feet from the pull, but plants himself with his suit’s greaves that provide him some leverage. His face is open and competitive, laughing with sheer delight and June pulls at the rope again, from where its tight between her teeth, jerking him forward. He’s almost a ragdoll against her strength, but the pieces of the suit he’s donned has given him a chance at not being flung immediately from his feet.

Loki relaxes. He raises his fist to knock against the glass, but pauses, watching the pair play. At once, Loki can imagine a hundred different play sessions, when June was smaller: chasing lights, tug-of-war, races through the sky, play-wrestling. All symbolic acts of love and childhood, of growing up but not older.

Loki remembers June is not even three years old yet. Her birthday is in four months, according to Stark. This dragon practically still shivers from the chill of amniotic fluid. She is an infant, and she wants to play with her rider.

He watches them for a handful of moments longer. June pulls harder, but Stark drops low in a crouch, one foot planted against his workbench. He shouts when June tugs him away and he goes sliding upon the ground on his back, pulled for the ride.

Loki turns and heads back to the living quarters and leaves them be. Their lesson can wait until June finds him.

*

June opens and slants her wings to spiral out of a dive, allowing Tony to readjust his readings on the new saddle’s performance before she pivots and rolls midair. The flexibility of the saddle is June’s top concern, so they’re extra careful whenever she grows and requires a refitting. Especially with the proximal joints of her wings growing sturdier each passing day—nothing on her back can hamper their movements. Never mind that he has to redesign most of the saddle itself since he’s trying to fit in a passenger seat.

_Your mind wanders_ , June supplies, as Tony once more gets distracted by the roaming clouds near them.

Tony shakes his head free of the thoughts and replies, _sorry, baby girl. It’s easy to get lost up here._

_What troubles you?_

_Nothing, really._

June snorts, and turns nearly vertical as she flies at a steep incline, testing the saddle’s give on the arcing of her spine. _It is not nothing. Something always needles you._

_Fine. It’s Loki._

_What of him?_

_He’s just…chummy. I don’t know. It’s sending up flags with me. People who want to get close to someone just ‘cause they’re powerful._

June hums, falling into a lazy glide on an updraft, following its natural eddies. _He knew of my kin, the high dragons. He teaches me, sits in the aura of my magic daily. An easy assumption._

_Yeah. Should I be worried? I mean, even if he’s only here to be close to you for the perks or whatever, it just bothers me that he could hurt you later on. You know, after the deal’s up._

_It is no concern of mine,_ June reveals. _But that does not mean it cannot be one of yours. It is in your nature to know of these things, to think on them._

_Why aren’t you bothered? And don’t say that BS about being in his center or whatever, you know I don’t care._

A laugh, deep in her chest; it makes Tony’s legs vibrate. _I find no cause to think so far ahead, to when the deal is done. I look before then: to the time spent together, poring over ancient books, sharing the joy of a spell well-crafted. Of the time he spends with you, warding your second-skins, making them stronger; of the time and companionship you offer so freely, that he hesitates now to take but will not always. I see the food you provide him, the wings I share, the knowledge he gifts._

June pauses, and settles her thoughts into a concise truth: _I see this time and I know that before the deal is done, he will come to love us._

*

_Tony,_ June calls. _Join us tonight._

He sighs, put obediently puts down his work before standing. _Where you two at?_

Usually, the evening hours are dominated by June’s lessons. Her and Loki work in the common space in the penthouse, manipulating objects or casting various spells late into the night. It’s this time that Tony takes for himself to catch up on projects for Stark Industries, or some rainy-day gear for the handful of near-Avengers he’d worked with on nearly-doomsday, four months ago. But those particular projects are more wishful thinking/self-preservation than actual work, so.

_The roof._

Tony steps into a suit so he can fly up to the peak of the tower, where Selvig had been building his portal device. The sky above New York is still bright and blue, dotted with passing clouds and crisscrossed contrails. There, he finds both Loki and June, the former sitting cross-legged next to the dragon, who’s laying prim and proper. Loki inclines his head when Tony steps out of the suit, offers June a rub or two on her snout before saying, “So, what’s the party up here for?”

“We are meditating,” Loki replies. “June thought it prudent for you to join us.”

“Thanks, but I think this is way more your guys’ thing—”

_Stay_ , June implores. _It may help us both to meditate together._

Tony sighs. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, Rudolph.”

Loki sighs in a very similar way. “Sit as I do. Close your eyes. All the way, Stark. Open your mind to June, but do not reach for her. Breathe in. Out. Open your senses, one at a time: first, sound. Absorb all you hear and allow it to wash over you, head to toe. In. Out. Let the sounds and your awareness of them pass on the exhale, expelled from your body. Next: touch. Acknowledge the gravel beneath your legs, the shifting of your clothes against your skin. Feel your heartbeat stretch the flesh of your neck, your wrists. Feel what aches. In. Out. Let this go.”

Loki goes on. At first, Tony struggles to keep a regular breathing rhythm, but June’s presence at his side and against his mind steadies him. Loki’s instructions come at regular intervals, his voice shifting from its place at Tony’s side to encompassing his mind, coming from everywhere; its presence as simple and unknowable as gravity. The sensations of the physical world demand his attention, pulling him a thousand different ways each time he acknowledges their existence, but after a time, they fade away. Soon, it is only him, and June, and Loki, in a space all their own, together and apart.

Loki says, “And slowly pull your breath into your body. Release it and open your eyes. Give your body and mind the time to adjust. Come back to the forefront of your awareness.”

Tony lets his eyes drift open, and he feels odd—achy like he’s been sitting in one place for way too long but also relaxed as though he’s just woken up from a lazy nap. The first thing he sees is the sky: it’s almost completely dark, but there’s traces of deep purple cresting the edges of the spattering of buildings on the horizon. Tony blinks, rubbing his face distantly before turning to June.

She reaches out, presses her snout to his reactor. He rubs at her face, touching the creases beneath her eyes and the taut skin around the base of her antlers.

Loki says, “And may we find ourselves in a safer domain,” as though it’s the ending to a prayer, and continues in a more normal tone, “There is room for improvement for you both. But it was a commendable first attempt.”

June dips her head, and says, _thank you._

“Yeah,” Tony echoes. “Thanks.”

*

Loki asks her, _how did you know to enter my mind?_

_The whispering stone told me so,_ June replies. This lesson is one in control: she is holding one of Stark’s drinks aloft with magic, filled to the brim with a crimson liquid. One spilled drop would fill the room with a noxious smoke for hours, one that would irritate Stark’s nose the most. They had learned this fact two week previous, when she had dropped the glass entirely with her ham-fisted control of magic. She has been concentrating for well over ten minutes now with little strain.

_What did it tell you? Specifically._

Their connection is only one for communication: Loki has been very careful not to allow it to expand beyond that. He is sure June is doing the same. Only words and the faintest hint of emotions can fit through. Nevertheless, Loki is positive he hears a familiar buzzing in his ears, which makes him grimace. The sound must be coming from June’s memories of her time with the scepter.

The sound-sensation fades, and June says, _I would repeat it, but I do not think it speaks in a language you know._

_I know Allspeak,_ is all Loki replies with.

_You would have heard its voice if Allspeak could understand it._

Loki hums. June’s concentration has faded with the conversation, but she quickly grasps it, lifting the glass to the appropriate height in the air once more.

_What do you know of this stone?_

June doesn’t reply right away, but eventually says, _I know it can hum to the tune of any being’s mind, find its place there. I know it whispers in a voice only I can hear. I know it is powerful. It is familiar._

Loki watches her. It is as he thought. He plucks the glass from the air, drinks it, and sets the glass on the table beside him. June watches him in return, unconcerned by his behavior, and continues, _what do you know of it, shrouded?_

Loki has had many names, but hers is entirely new. He’s never asked her to explain. _Too much, perhaps. I have done some reading and I have found something that may interest you._

She seems to understand what he’s saying beneath the words, and offers, _if we speak of this, then Tony must hear._

_If you desire._

Their minds part, and Loki shields himself as Tony appears, summoned through the telepathic bond. “We having a team meeting, then?”

“Yes,” Loki says. He spreads his hands, a gesture of openness and welcoming—calculated, of course. “June and I were speaking of my scepter. What do you know of it, Stark?”

“That it controls people’s minds, makes their eyes glaze over, and made June freak out,” he lists.

“Not much beyond the obvious,” Loki replies, with a sharp smile. It fades. “The scepter and its stone were…gifted, to me. Its previous owner wished to know of its capabilities in the hands of someone with a, how shall we say, gift for ingenuity and a cause to exercise it.”

“He wanted data,” Stark clarifies.

“Yes.” Loki looks at June, and says, “It is fitting, that you were the one to stop me. Perhaps it was fate.” He stops, shakes his head. He turns to a different route, one that will hopefully lead to the shortest conversation possible. “What do you two know of the creation of the universe?”

“I didn’t know there was gonna be a quiz,” Stark complains.

June snorts. They communicate briefly, and Stark continues, “June doesn’t really care. I’ve been trying to teach her about the big bang, but it doesn’t really interest her.”

“You do not know of the Infinity Stones, then.”

“Nope,” Stark replies, obnoxiously. June’s eyes have narrowed, ever-so-slightly.

“Very well. There are legends—rumors—that pass from the realms to the rest of the known universe. Legends of stones of great power that, at the universe’s central point of creation, made be all that is. They are known as the Infinity Stones; many stories say there are four, others seven, but the most prolific rumors are that there are six: power, time, reality, soul, mind, and space. Those who hold the stone control that facet of the universe absolutely.”

“I’m guessing since you’re bringing this up, it’s not a story.”

“To most of the universe, it is but a story,” Loki corrects. “But to me—to us—it is fact. You have encountered two of them, in the same day, no less.”

Stark narrows his eyes. “The tesseract.”

Loki dips his head. “The Space Stone.”

June is very still. Stark’s eyes widen. “The scepter. The Mind Stone?”

“Astute. Yes.”

“Shit.”

“I agree,” Loki replies. He takes a breath. “I bring this to your attention because, during the course of my research, I came upon a creation tale of a different variety: that of the dragons. Songül, in _The Collection_ , details a myth that was popular among the high dragons: that it was not the condensing of the Infinity Stones that created the universe; rather, six dragons came here from a higher plane of existence, with the Infinity Stones in their throats, and created the universe through their voices. The use of this power is what stole the high dragons’ voice and required the presence of a telepathic connection to speak.”

“I’m not going to like where this goes, am I?”

Loki shrugs. “Songül thought this but another story. Perhaps it is so. Without another high dragon to listen to the scepter, it is impossible to know if the Mind Stone speaks to all dragons, or only to June.”

“What are you saying, Loki?”

His real name—Stark is serious. He always grows serious when it comes to June. “I am saying, perhaps June is a descendant of one of these Infinity Dragons—the one that carried the Mind Stone. Perhaps she can understand it because it was her blood that brought it to this universe.”

“It feels like a leap, jumping from a creation story to June’s lineage.” His face is serious, skeptical; Loki finds it amusing and endearing all at once, which is a feeling he immediately shoves down his throat.

“Perhaps it is. But nowhere in my research is there any indication that any high dragons had an affinity for a certain stone. There are stories of high dragons that were protectors of the stones and specific realms—a dragon that protected, say, the time stone and Svartálfheim both—but never of dragons that could speak to the stones as June does.”

Stark sits back in the couch, and Loki can tell he and June are communicating by the way his eyes go slightly distant. Loki allows them the silence, turning away so he is not staring at either of them. After some time, Stark shakes his head.

“You’re right—there’s no way to know for certain what June is or isn’t, or if that story is more than a myth. All we do know is that June can understand the Mind Stone.”

Loki allows him the skepticism. Loki is unsure himself—after all, high dragons have not lived in the realms for millennia. All they know of their kind has been twisted and contorted through thousands upon thousands of years of storytelling, or stories interpreted through the hand of one rider. 

“I bring it up for a reason,” Loki reveals. “June knows of the individuals who…found me, in the void. One of them, the Mad Titan, covets the power of the stones. He has the will to find them all.”

“Why?”

“I was not around him long enough for him to tell me,” Loki replies, blankly. “If I had been, I would not be here.”

Stark rubs his head. “But we can speculate it’s not for a good reason, going by his name.”

“Yes. I bring the story of the Infinity Dragons to you because there is a story that connects to it: the myth of the End of Days. It is said that in a time when the stones converge, so will the Dragons. They will be born again and come to collect the Infinity Stones to take them to the next void, to create another universe after dissolving ours to nothing.”

*

June says, _I need to think._

She flies from the penthouse without Tony or the saddle and closes their connection to but the slightest crack.


	4. Cosmo's Top 10 Tips for Telepathic Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki almost punch each other in the face, but they move past that—right into a very emotionally satisfying three-way conversation (and no, that's not a euphemism). Tony unknowingly paraphrases some jackass that guards their galaxy. And Then Shit Goes Down. It's all very domestic, for their standards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're posting this a day early because I finished early and am impatient. Also, I made the rules so I can break them.
> 
> There may be some formatting issues again, since AO3 loves to erase my copious amounts of italics, so let me know if there's something I missed. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: quick chapter repost because mistakes happen, rip

Tony pries open their connection until he can say,  _June, come back. Team meeting. Come back._

She is stubbornly silent, shielding him from her emotions and thoughts from within her own mind now, beyond their connection.

He repeats,  _come home, baby girl._

She doesn’t reply, but he leaves her be now, retreating and allowing their connection to close before opening again, slowly.

“She’s coming back,” Tony informs Loki. The god is idly flipping through his book, trying to occupy himself in the silence between them. The two of them aren’t really close yet; they agree to tolerate each other for June’s sake, but there is still that breadth of awkwardness that gulfs between them.

“Very well,” he replies.

Tony rubs his face, slumps back into the couch. “Okay, look. June obviously knows about whatever happened to you with this Mad Titan, but I don’t. Tell me what I need to know so we can all make a decent decision about what to do.”

Tony can almost audibly hear Loki’s teeth grind before he smooths out his expression. “There is little to know,” he says. “It is as I said: he and his underling, the Other, plucked me from the void and pointed me in the direction of Midgard.”

“Yeah, you’re saying a bunch of words but you’re not really  _saying_  anything,” Tony points out.

“I do not need to say more!” Loki resists, hotly. It’s the first time Tony has even caught a glimpse of the person beneath the schmoozing and the stillness. Loki, in all the time he’s been here, has offered nothing of himself beyond the fact he sleeps, eats, and can do magic. And Tony’s not even positive about the first thing, since he’s never  _actually_  seen Loki sleep.

“No, listen, I get what you’re not saying,” Tony insists. “They tortured you, shoved the Mind Stone down your throat, whatever. But I need to know what the Mad Titan or this Other did or talked about so we all—me included!—can talk about what to do to stop him!”

Loki’s face, taut and pale with rage, loosens with brief shock before shifting into glass—breakable, smooth, a glinting view into him. “Stop him.”

“Yeah, what the fuck do you think we’re gonna do? Some space asshole wants to gather the Stones of Infinitude Unending Power for reasons only  _you_  know so far! Of course we’re going to stop him before he fucks up the whole universe.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Tony repeats. “Uh, I  _live_  here, for one. Also, June will kick my ass if we don’t.”

Loki watches him for a long moment that makes Tony contemplate looking away, but he doesn’t dare—instead, he stares right back, unbending, refusing to look anywhere else. His eyes are a shade of lightened green that are lined with stretches and flecks of bronze. Tony recognizes that hue from June’s wings.

“You never cease to surprise me,” Loki finally replies. Whatever he saw in Tony’s eyes in return seems to have calmed him, because he doesn’t strangle Tony for his indiscretion and/or fly into a rage. “As I told you, I know not of the Mad Titan’s long-term plans. All I know is he covets the power of the Infinity Stones. The Other implied on several occasions that he would be a part of his master’s new dominion over the universe, but that very well may have been his own desire.”

Tony leans forward, catches Loki’s eyes before he clarifies, with emphasis, “the Infinity Stones. Not the descendants of the Infinity Dragons.”

Loki’s brow furrows, ever-so-slightly. “Yes.”

Beside them, the curtain wall opens from its center, sliding to its edges as June appears, hovering at the opening before landing, making the floor shudder. She shakes herself as her wings fold at her sides, held down so she can fit inside to lay down by where he and Loki are sitting. Tony immediately goes to her and hugs her neck, offering affection in the light of her confusion and churning mind before he returns to his place on the couch.

“Okay,” Tony says, clapping his hands. “It’s time to stop fucking around. We’ve got to shit or get off the pot, you know what I’m saying? Well, weird analogy for a team of three, but either we’re all in this from now until the end or we go our separate ways.”

“Get to your point,” Loki cuts him off.

“Look, Loki, right now you’re a tutor, I’m the parent, and June is the only thing keeping us together. That ain’t gonna cut it if we’re gonna fight some space Titan or whatever. So right now we decide if we fight this dick together or if it’s just June and I.”

Loki sits back, face still curiously and annoyingly blank. Tony’s getting better at reading him, though, and he looks surprised again—a kind of surprise that shows up on the face of someone who’s been fucked over again and again, and for once, is in a situation that probably won’t end up in getting fucked. He looks at June, and then back to Tony before he clarifies, “you are offering me a chance to leave the deal.”

“Sure,” Tony says. “I mean, I’m not the kind of guy who drags someone into a fight who doesn’t want to be there. If you’re not up for helping us, that’s fine. You’ve paid back your favor, we part as unlikely acquaintances, everything’s all and good.”

He leans forward now, a physical emphasis and vacuum of the room’s attention both. “Thing is, if you do decide to go, you probably won’t have a chance at getting revenge.” He shrugs, spreads his hands in a hugely calculated gesture to open his chest, make him appear both friendly and haughty. “Just saying. There’s probably not a chance in hell you’ll get close enough to this fucker to get back at him without us.”

Loki’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits, and his face and curling lip makes it abundantly clear he’s aware of Tony’s manipulations. Being aware of it is totally separate from being unaffected by it, though, and Tony can tell he’s hooked. The atmosphere in the room transforms from hugely awkward into something sharp, a humming buzz of lizard-brain danger filling the silence.

“And what are my chances with you, then, Anthony Stark?” he enunciates, in a manner that is far more frightening that Tony had anticipated. His whole demeanor is unsettling: he’s brimming with tension and his muscles are whipcord tight, with his hands deliberately placed on his knees with his nails pressing creases into his slacks, his expression bordering on amiably-homicidal as he leans forward.

Tony refuses to be scared. He leans closer, and Loki does not retreat; they’re almost nose to nose. “Let’s think about that,” he replies, eyes still and hardening into a kind of steel-wrath that he’s never let anyone but June see. “This guy you keep whining about has an army and a couple of rocks. We’ve got a motherfucking  _dragon,_ a team of superheroes just itching to fuck some shit up, and  _me._  You think I’m gonna let some asshole with a rock collection touch what’s mine?”

The tension hangs sharp in the air, a dagger ready to carve through sensitive flesh. Tony refuses to look away, and so does Loki; they’re finally, literally, seeing eye to eye, deciding if what they see is worth their time. Tony likes what he sees: a whole lot of fury reigned in by tight control, hiding a film of deep, cultured terror. That kind of emotional control, linked with trench-deep breadth of feeling, is exactly what Tony had hoped to find. It belies a certain loyalty to the people capable of offering absolution, and an understanding of the pitfalls of both choices.

Eventually, Loki blinks and retreats. The tension bleeds from the room and his body in equal measure until he’s breathing deeply and evenly. Tony, in turn, retreats as well; he leans back into the couch, crossing his ankle over his knee, waiting for Loki to make his decision. June has remained silent and still during the entire conversation, understanding its necessity.

“Very well,” he says, in his normal voice, albeit in a slightly muted tone. “You are right, in a sense. You two are the best means for me to exact my revenge. The Mad… _Thanos_  is unlikely to forgive my failure, and so even if I escape him now, I will not forever.”

Loki takes a deep, harrowing breath in, releases it. He opens his eyes and continues, “I do not know you, Anthony Stark. But I know your dragon. And if a creature such as her trusts you, then I shall as well. I will do everything in my power to stop Thanos with you both.”

It feels like an oath. Tony nods, and replies, “Thanks. It’s the same for me: I don’t know you either, but if June trusts you, I do too. But if we’re gonna do this, we need to be a team.  _All_  of us. That means if it’s me and you we gotta be just as tight as me and June, or you and her. She can’t be our buffer forever.”

“I agree,” Loki says. “Defeating Thanos will require all of our shared strength, and then some. We must…yes. We must be a team.”

Tony reaches out his hand, and Loki stares at it until he takes it with the aura of someone who’s so unfamiliar with negotiating allies he doesn’t know what to expect.

“We’re a team,” Tony agrees.

*

June watches her rider and her second-bonded come to understand each other. In truth, she was concerned—in the parts of her mind that she mutes from Tony’s awareness—that the two would ever come to know and trust the other. They are vastly different in the ways they are not startlingly alike, and it was those differences that held the potential to separate them on opposite edges of an uncrossable chasm.

Now she is appeased. She feels in Tony’s mind, and reads on the shrouded one’s skin, that they are speaking their own truths.

She reaches for both of their minds, in the separate places they reside within her own.  _We are a team,_  she agrees. They turn to her, drop the other’s hands, but the alliance remains, a golden thread woven strong.  _If we are such, I offer this. I can speak to you both, but I can make it so you may speak to the other as I do. We are all connected; our minds ought to mirror that._

The shrouded one swallows. June soothes,  _I will balance our connection, second-bonded. You will touch me as I touch you. Tony will reach for you as you can reach for him. Balance—trust—equal, between us all._

Both of her bonded look at her, and then each other. In the privacy of their own bond, June feels Tony shift through a kaleidoscope of emotions, many of which return to fear-jealousy-concern-wanting. He conflicts with himself, wanting to connect but desiring to keep June to himself; he yearns to make June and himself happy but also to do right by Loki; he fears the future and of personally messing it up but also delights in its possibilities. June lets him feel and does not convince him one way or the other.

Eventually, his emotions calm, and shifts into determination. The jealousy fades, likewise transforming from something possessive into something closer to a desire to let June grow.

Tony shrugs and says, “I’ve had worse people inside me,” which makes June narrow her eyes and the shrouded one smirk.

“So have I,” the shrouded one replies, with a voice that is much smoother than before. June obligingly makes a disgusted sound in her throat, which makes her rider laugh.

“Okay, baby girl, do it.”

June resists teasing them. She reaches first for her second-bonded and layers her magic like dipping wax over the thread that exists there, strengthening and thickening it; the shrouded one must feel it, and does the same with his own magic, weaving their powers together in equal measure. June weaves the thread deeper in her mind, rooting it within her shields that kept him removed from her before. Now, he can reach her as Tony does: he has a place, foundational and molded, in her mind.

June pulls away, but she can feel the shrouded one just as she can feel Tony. His mind is sharper, more reflective than Tony’s; his thoughts and emotions reverberate and reflect off the spinning facets of his mind, shifting and transforming. His presence is quieter but no less insistent; less fundamental, but still ever-present.

With their bond secure, June reaches now for both of them, pulling their consciousnesses closer, allowing them to reach for each other while in the neutral space beyond her mind. If they are going to be a team, they must establish themselves while beyond her, so they may form their own relationship without her. It is not exclusion, but rather an acknowledgement of their own beings and the uniqueness of their presences.

They take longer to connect; June helps them, but she refuses to spark the connection and spool it between them. It takes time, but eventually the shrouded one finds his footing, and grasps onto Tony’s mind. Tony reaches back, familiar with the mental movements from his years with June. When their minds are clasped, they deepen the connection, strengthening it from thread to rope to corded steel.

June pulls away from them in increments, returning to her own mind, connected now to two. The mortals do not notice her absence for some time, feeling each other out and coming to terms with the new addition to their mental landscape. Tony notices it first, and grins, delighted.

Tony tugs at her, leading her beyond their own connection. Their minds form a triangle, like the inlaid lines of Tony’s heart, and they meet within its center: all three vertices reaching forth to grasp each other. It’s both a neutral space and an intimately protected one, made of all of them and none. It is deeply familiar and absolutely foreign.

June could not hide her warmth-happiness-awe if she tried; but she does not and allows it to radiate in this new mental connection, a common ground of them all. She can feel both Tony ( _Sol_ , bright and glowing and warm, central to her life) and Loki ( _Luna_ , distant, orbital and calm and central to her core balance) here, the celestial bodies to June ( _Terra,_ the earth, teeming life and power and ancient secrets). She keeps these comparisons to herself, but not so much as to actively hide them.

 _This is weird,_  Tony says, the first of them to speak.

 _An arresting observation, Stark,_  comes Loki’s mental voice; here, it refracts and chimes like light striking glass.

 _It is home,_  June replies.

Tony radiates agreement and pleasure, almost a childish delight in finding a place to lay his head. Loki is calmer, more restrained, but she can still feel his gladness, for once eclipsing the blackness of his recent days.

*

Loki pulls away from their shared place, rubs a hand through his hair. He stops halfway when his hand catches his eye—and he finds, suddenly, that his hand is adorned with intricate ancient marks.

June notices, and rumbles out a pleased-amused-possessive sound.  _My second-bonded,_  she preens.

Loki stares, dumbfounded. The glove-like markings aren’t as intricate or many as Stark’s— _Anthony’s—_ but they’re beautiful and writhing beneath his skin. Loki recognizes a handful of the runes that are inlaid within the designs, ancient things of connection-togetherness-bound-existence. The lines curl around his fingers, the base of his thumb, his wrist, both palm and back.

Anthony’s marked hand comes down upon his shoulder, and the mortal is grinning. “Welcome to the club,” he says, and all Loki can do is gape.

*

The night after they part, June and Loki finish their lesson on the balcony of Stark Tower. The wind buffets at her wings, but she allows them to hover on their own power, tail falling over the edge of the building to flick midair. Loki sits with his legs over the edge, watching as the city below prepares to sleep.

His and June’s connection sits warmly between them.

 _You are a part of us, now,_  June informs him. Loki’s marked hand warms, almost an itching sensation. _It has always been Tony and me. But now it is you-and-I-and-Tony._  A moment passes, and then a memory comes: flashes of a dark place, the face of a dark-skinned man and the sensation of terror-fear-fury; Anthony is there, younger, dirtier, his glowing heart on display, shouting intelligibly at the man.

 _Others have, since the beginning, striven to harm us,_  she says, after the shaky memory fades.  _That is my first memory. They tried to take me from Tony. He saved us. And when we came back to his home, a man he knew as a friend tried to strike us down. He nearly did._  Loki’s eyes, led by June’s connection, fall to her underbelly, where several of her scales are slightly discolored—a scar, still growing with her. Another memory comes with her words: the image of a pale, broad-shouldered man leaning over Anthony’s still and unmoving body, his glowing heart in his hand; the man reaches back, aims something dark towards her, and the memory explodes with sudden and inescapable pain. Loki visibly recoils from it, and June takes the memory back.

 _Now that you are part of us, you should know._  She pauses.  _The last—his name was Obadiah._

_Was._

_Yes. Tony killed him._

_Good._

June acknowledges Loki’s response with a dip of her head. Tony feels much the same way, even if he’s occasionally shocked from his sleep by the nightmare of a guilty conscience. Time passes, and June occupies herself by blowing smoke rings out of her nostrils, occasionally making herself sneeze and dart licks of fire from between her teeth.

Loki says,  _My…Odin, he is not my father. He stole me as a warprize when I was an infant. Told me and—Thor stories of how the realm he stole me from was barbaric, how the beings there were monsters._ Loki reluctantly offers June the memory of seeing his own, true skin: the red eyes, the blue white-lined skin. He doesn’t mute the sensation of betrayal, or disgust.  _And he—he always loved Thor, far more than he ever cared for me. I thought it because he was the eldest, meant to be King. But…it was…it was his magic that hid my skin. He always knew what I was._

June stays quiet, lets him think. Eventually, he continues,  _I will always hate him for what he stole from me. For how he treated me…for what he made me do._

Loki doesn’t expect a response. But June surprises him—much like her rider—and says,  _I can make_   _his betrayal live forever. I could carry the memory of what he did to you on long after he is gone. I will always carry the hate for Obadiah this way. I would do the same for the flame eye, if it helps you._

_You would, wouldn’t you? You’d remember what he did to me forever._

_Yes_.

Of all the things she could have offered him, he did not expect this. He’s surprised by how the idea pleases him: an ancient dragon, yellow and bronze, speaking to hatchlings and beings that will not be born for perhaps several hundred thousand years or more—telling them of the betrayal of a man named Odin, who profoundly wronged his son. He can see it, can imagine the scorn the story will elicit—and for once, it would not be for him.

 _It is tempting,_  Loki replies.  _But this is not your burden. My hatred is a heavy thing. I would not weigh you down, so young._

June huffs a laugh, and for the first time, he feels the accompanying humor through the bond: it’s a heady thing, sweet and intoxicating like mead.  _I will accumulate many memories throughout my life,_  she tells him.  _It matters not when I choose to carry the heavy ones—now, or when I am old and tired. It is a simple thing, to remember._

Loki nods, but says nothing. They watch the sky change color and the clouds crawl to cover the moon. When it becomes too cold with the wind, they move inside, and part for the evening.

*

Anthony waves Loki away after an hour spent in his company. “Go on a flight with June or something,” he says, distractedly, as he stands amongst an expanded, holographic workshop; blueprints for his suits, June’s gear, and other miscellaneous pieces of technology rotate around him, a cacophony of information that has made Loki's head ache.

“Without you?” Loki replies, startled. He and Anthony, upon mutual agreement, keep their fledgling connection partially closed at all times; they can feel each other’s presence and state of being, but emotions do not shift as easily between them as they do between their respective connections to the dragon. The presence-but-not-invasion keeps both of them sane and comfortable.

“Sure,” Anthony replies. “Might as well get used to it without me there, right? Who knows when you’ll need to…”

Loki watches Anthony for a moment, then two, before he shakes his head. Anthony may not be sending him any discomfort—both in physical or mental mediums—but Loki knows a line he should not cross when he sees it. He’s especially careful of those lines with these two; in his past life, on Asgard, the lines he bothered to acknowledge in such a way had been few and far between.

He has far more to lose now than he ever did there.

“I will travel to Alfheim,” Loki replies, when it seems Anthony had not seen his response. “There is a scholar I know there who may have an original copy of  _Draughtbane, Tome of Draconic Magics._ ”

“Sounds good,” Anthony replies, still distracted.

Loki realizes that Anthony truly does not care, one way or the other—if he decides to fly alone with June or if he flees to Alfheim. He is briefly struck by Anthony’s lack of possessiveness—even a lack of protectiveness—but he comes to the conclusion that to Anthony, Loki is not an individual that worries him when he is in close proximity to June. Loki does not register on Anthony’s awareness of those he must keep watch over.

Loki has never been that someone. He has always been watched, scrutinized, dissected—never once trusted with anything of importance. Even Thor had come to be wary of his pranks, or of his magical prowess in battle. It had been a friendly wariness, certainly, but it was a distance nonetheless.

Anthony no longer holds Loki at that distance. Loki swallows, and goes to prepare for his journey.

*

Loki says,  _I cannot show you both what Thanos told me._ Their shared space echoes with his glass voice.  _I will not taint this place with the memory of him._

June is a soothing presence, larger than all of them but easy and filled with gentle mildness.  _Do not. We need only know of it, not to see his face._

_It is as I said. He desires the Infinity Stones. Perhaps it is for just the power of them; perhaps it is to accomplish a larger goal. But to hold all the infinity stones is to hold the universe itself. His plan must be…_

_It must affect everything,_  Tony finishes.

_Yes. Everything and more._

June hums. Their shared place fills with wordless thoughts and stirring emotions, coming from all of them. It is still harried, confusing—the addition of a third mind fills their awareness to the brim, nearly overwhelming in the sheer amount of thoughts-sensations-memories that can pass between all of them.

Loki’s presence between the two of them is a strange thing. His mind moves differently than theirs, but not incompatibly so. Sometimes the sharp edges of him snap and writhe—especially when he thinks to his time in the void, or under the Other’s hand. They can’t see those memories here, but they can see how his mind reacts to their remembering. When they all clasp together, here, sharing space—it hurts, to see his mind, so bright and clever and sharp, writhe and distort in unhealed pain.

_How powerful is this guy, Loki? I’m talking realistically._

_He is, at his core, only as powerful as his race,_  Loki replies, somewhat hesitantly.  _The Titans were a bracing race; stronger and more durable than even the Aesir. A strong but ultimately killable opponent. But with even one of the stones? He is unthinkably clever and would find dozens upon dozens of ways to utilize its powers to stop us and accomplish his goal._

 _I’ve been told I’m clever too,_  Tony replies, after a moment of thinking.  _Even if this guy has a stone or two, we’re all very powerful. With my suit, your magic, and June, we have a chance against him._

 _Tony,_  June interrupts before Tony can allow his mind to jump and flutter between possible plans and strategies against this Thanos, moving the pieces of them around to see what works.  _I felt in your mind, before. A distinction of the objects of Thanos’ desire._

 _Ah!_  Delight-smugness radiates from him, warming and annoying in equal measure.  _Right. Loki, before, you said Thanos wants the Stones, not the Dragons._

 _Yes. What is the importance?_ Loki, impatience but not anger.

_Look. We may have had two Infinity Stones, but we don’t have the means to protect them from other people on Earth or Asgard, let alone if Thanos comes knocking. Even if we get the Mind and Space Stone, we have no idea where the other four are, or how close Thanos is to finding them—_

_Get to the point, Anthony._

_The Stones are well and powerful,_  this thought is accompanied by Barton-Selvig-Loki’s blue eyes, the pearl of humming power from the tesseract,  _but I think we can all agree that June could chew them to dust if she wants._  Unpersuaded-amusement reluctantly slips from the others, but Tony continues, _if we’re right about her being related to the Infinity Dragons, then there must be other descendants out there too, right? Other high dragon eggs that’re just waiting to get hatched._

 _My kin,_ June’s voice emanates surprise-longing-defensiveness.

_Yeah! So why don’t we let Thanos collect his rocks—the ones we can deal with, anyways—and we go after the eggs? Even if we can’t hatch them, we’ll still be able to stop him from having them. And if they do hatch, hey, we have that many more fucking Infinity Dragon kids!_

_We are unsure if there are other eggs,_  Loki argues.

 _If June exists, we should assume there are,_  Tony shoots right back.  _It was practically a miracle that her egg got to me. Maybe somewhere else, an egg is out there, just waiting to get to its rider? Even if there aren’t, maybe we find something to help us. June learns more magic, we find out more about dragons, Thanos wastes time trying to move his army and collect rocks. Win-win-win._

 _I think you consistently underestimate the sheer power of the stones,_ Loki interrupts, dryly. He doesn’t sound angry, but also not particularly convinced, either.

_I’ve seen enough._

June finally speaks up, pressing her mind forward to give the other two a moment to quiet down so she can speak.  _We do not know enough. We base plans on assumptions. Let us do more research, think more on what we believe is our best path. Loki, when would this Thanos be ready to strike—with all the stones?_

_With this setback? Anywhere from three to five years._

_Years!_ Tony crows.  _We’ve got so much time. Yeah, June’s right. Let’s sit on this for now._

 _I will contact allies in the other realms,_ Loki agrees.  _I will see what they know of Thanos’ plans, of the rumors of dragons, the like. The more information we have, the better we will fare._

Despite the parting words, the three of them loathe to retreat. Eventually, they slip away, receding to their own minds.

*

Loki returns from Vanaheim a touch worse for wear; he’s dirtied and unsteady on his feet, but ultimately in one piece. Tony gets his shoulder under Loki’s arm and leads him to the couch before Loki can protest.

“Have a good trip?” Tony asks, only a little facetious. With Loki back on Earth, their connection is much brighter, and throbbing with pain—but nothing that indicates anything more than magical exhaustion.

“Educational,” Loki replies, allowing Tony to drop him on the couch with some grace. “The Vanir are…less welcoming to outsiders than I remember. It took a great deal of energy to hide myself from the more inquisitorial members of the Old Temple.”

 Tony stands, puts his hands on his hips. “Sounds medieval,” he observes. “Need anything? June’s out flying on her own, but if you need her to replenish your mojo…?”

“Not yet,” Loki sighs. He fishes something from his travelling satchel, and hands it to Tony; it’s a lump of raw ore, about the size of a strawberry, and through the streaks of dirt and stone gold gleams through. “I did, however, trade one of my trinkets for this. Adamantine. I am sure you will find a suitable use for it.”

Tony studies the ore, eyebrows raised. It’s far heavier than it looks, and the gold gleams when he rubs some of the dirt from its surface. “The stuff that Wolverine guy uses as a skull? Coulda sworn his nails were silver, though. Maybe he paints them that way.”

Loki furrows his brow, and then shakes his head. “I would assume not. Adamantine is the mineral of the gods. Even Odin could only have but a helm constructed with this—there was not enough to be found to forge more. This,” he says, with deeper emphasis, “will not break to anything but a celestial.”

“I’ll pretend I know what that means,” Tony replies, good naturedly. Loki leans back into the couch, taking a deep breath as his head falls back. He looks…tired. Not exhausted, but that limbo between total fatigue and awareness. “What did you trade for this? If it’s that rare that the All-Daddy can’t even get it, it must have been valuable.”

Loki flaps his hand, not even opening his eyes. “A trinket, really. They will not even be able to use it.”

Tony rolls his eyes, smiles. Loki opens their connection, apparently tired of speaking, and shows him an image of an Arc of the Covenant style crate that had swirling dark blue light inside it.  _The Casket of Ancient Winters,_  Loki supplies.  _It’s practically useless to all but a Frost Giant. It has a reputation but no real…bite._

_And how’d you get your hands on it, then?_

Their connection sours, deeply, before Loki visibly reins it in and replies,  _because my hands are theirs._

Loki sends over enough memories for Tony to get it. He sighs, pushes them back with gentleness so Loki knows he’s not rejecting him.  _I can tell this is fucking with you,_ Tony explains.  _You don’t have to talk about it._

_You are not disgusted?_

_Why, cause you’re blue? Uh, newsflash, Comet, the most important person in my life is yellow. Oh, that’s cool—she’s yellow, you’re blue, and I’m red. We should call ourselves the Primary Colors or something._

_Anthony._ Tony realizes Loki is holding his wrist, in a tight but non-punishing grip. Tony swallows. It’s entreating, in a way that Tony hasn’t experienced.

 _No, I’m not disgusted,_  Tony says, allowing Loki’s mind to come closer to sense the sincerity from the source. He puts his hand over Loki’s, where it holds his wrist.  _Why would I be?_

 _Monster,_ is all Loki says.

 _Some people think June is a monster,_  Tony replies.  _Doesn’t mean I do. Same thing applies to you, Loki._

Silence. Tony goes to pull away, but before Loki releases him, he hears,  _I believe you._  Loki’s asleep before Tony can reply. Tony fingers the ore, shakes his head with a smile, and fetches a blanket to lay over Loki’s keeled-over body.

*

June cracks open one of her eyes as Tony enters the common room, still putting in his cufflink on his right sleeve. They’re golden and an obviously ostentatious allusion to June. His mark is on display against the sliver of white from his shirt, which sits beneath a deep black jacket crossed with reflective lines of gold; he’s paired the suit with a piercing gold slim tie, which makes him the picture of a dragon rider who’s not afraid to show it.

 _Why this skin?_  June asks. Tony is absolutely positive that June knows what clothes are, but she insists on calling everything he puts on one of his “skins,” including his Iron Man suits.

 _Pepper blackmailed me into an appearance at some dickbag’s gala,_ Tony replies. He sends her their conversation so June knows it wasn’t malicious blackmail, no matter how mean it felt at the time. He peers over the couch to Loki, who’s still sleeping; it’s been a little more than five hours since he came home from Vanaheim. The ore he’d traded for Tony is sitting in his lockbox in the workshop.

_He wake up yet?_

_No. He dreams easy._

_Good,_ Tony replies. Nightmares shake them all up, collectively; he means it literally too, since all of them, June included, tend to project their dreams in their sleep. It’s an unpleasant and mortifying experience all in one.  _Watch over him while I’m gone._

_I will not join you?_

_Nah. It’s just across town._ Tony sends the address, plus a vague idea of the building, to her. She’s always more comfortable knowing where he is.  _I won’t be long. Just an appearance for me tonight—I want to play with that mineral Loki got me._

_Why go, if you wish not to?_

Tony’s mind flashes to Pepper’s steel voice, and the pictures she’d promised to “anonymously leak” if he hadn’t shown up within two hours of the gala’s starting time. June bubbles over with humor when she realizes they were of him bending over backwards to avoid alerting a Loki-and-June lesson that he was in the room.

 _Ah,_ June replies, her mind jingling with mirth.  _Do try and enjoy yourself. I’ll be meditating._

 _Ha ha,_ Tony replies, deeply unamused (but, deeper than that, tickled pink).  _Love you._

_Love Tony._

*

The gala is as boring as Tony expected. He’s been drinking far less—barely even socially—since he and June were connected, since she complained once his inebriated mind made her uncomfortable. Without the blur of liquor to make the party worthwhile, it’s just a slog of rich assholes and ravenous reporters in a poorly decorated loitering space. It’s a room that’s centered around a massive pillar that reaches the ceiling, covered with projected images of something Tony can’t figure out; a lit-up moon circles the pillar on the ceiling, shifting through its phases. There’s a massive forty-foot curtain wall of glass at the front of the room that shows off a pretty nice view of Manhattan. It would be pretty if it wasn’t so pretentious, and Tony  _knows_  pretentious.

Tony parks himself next to an indoor fountain and amuses himself by telling outrageous stories about June. The press doesn’t know he and June went to Asgard—they don’t even know about Loki—so he just adapts Odin and Asgard into some Scandinavian royalty. He gets away with way too much before some wife of an oil baron calls him out on his bullshit, much to his delight.

Pepper finds him not long after, smiling and benevolent in her flared-waisted suit.

“Mr. Stark,” she says.

“Ms. Potts,” he returns, smiling. She positions herself at his side, turned toward him.

“Glad to see you decided to join us.”

Tony laughs—he can’t help it. “Yeah, yeah. Like I’m stupid enough to test you, Pepper.”

“You’re finally learning,” she agrees. “How’s June and Loki?”

“Loki’s passed out, did some frolicking around on another planet,” he replies, grinning. “Brought me some sweet alien metal though. You’re lucky I love you, or I would never have left the ‘shop.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling still. Their relationship has settled into an easy comradery ever since June came around, and Tony is smart enough to let it lie. Tony still loves her, probably always will, but Tony likes to be needed, and June (maybe even Loki, now) gives him that. Pepper’s never really needed him—not nearly as much as he needs her.

“I’m honored,” she replies. Before she can continue, someone appears at her side; she says, “I’ll be with you in a moment,” before turning back to him and ordering, “I want you at the board meeting this Friday.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” he salutes. Tony lets her go with an obnoxious kiss blown her way. Tony laughs at her expression as she shakes her head and disappears into the crowd. He feels a distant crawling sensation at the back of his neck, like a spider landed there; he rubs at it, grimacing. You’d think they’d know how to exterminate in a place like this.

He turns around, intent on finding something else to occupy himself with, and finds June is strung up on the pillar, riddled with bullet holes; her body is displayed like a hunting trophy, wings spread by wires, held aloft to bleed onto the floor.

Tony’s breath escapes him all at once, leaving him lightheaded and motionless. His mind is barren, a ruin of emotions he can’t even begin to feel. He can’t look away from her—her dim scales, her deep blood, her clouded-gray eyes. His baby girl…

He can’t feel her. He can’t feel Loki.  _He can’t feel them in his mind. He can’t feel them!!_

Beside him, Loki grasps onto his suit jacket. Tony looks down, and Loki is bleeding, eyes wide, reaching an imploring marked hand towards him. His weight is a heavy and solid thing against Tony’s legs but his knees won’t even buckle.

_“Why didn’t you save us?”_

*

_**Wake up!** _

Loki shoots awake, gasping in a breath at the sudden and inescapable mental command. He nearly knocks his forehead against June’s snout.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asks, immediately. His mind feels muddled from sleep but he has never been more awake.

_I cannot feel Tony._

Loki reaches, and finds he cannot either. There’s something like a shield between them—it’s slippery and sticky but won’t budge to Loki’s insistent pressure. It writhes at the edge of his awareness like a living thing, a frighteningly familiar sensation to the void-worms.

 _Come,_  June says, her voice solid and very, very still. Loki dares not to disobey; he stands and follows June as she exits the penthouse through the sliding windows and raises her wings.

_Get on._

Loki hesitates for only a moment before he feels that prickling-sticky-redness from Anthony’s mind flare bright; he strides to her side and climbs to her back, clinging to her scales. June isn’t wearing her saddle, but she has a row of neck spines that are the color of her antlers that he can grasp. Her shoulders provide enough of a seat for him to perch on, knees tightening as her body movies and undulates beneath him.

 _Hold on,_  is all she says before she jumps from the balcony, falling into a steep arrow dive. The fall yanks Loki’s breath from his lungs, and he feels himself sliding on June’s scales before he tightens every muscle and holds on tighter, for dear life; June flares her wings and the descent stops all at once, jerking them up and forward. June flies just above the top of many of the city’s buildings at a breakneck speed, one that whips Loki’s hair around his head like knives.

The flight is a short one, mercifully; even this short of a distance rubs the inside of Loki’s thighs raw from being held so tightly against her moving scales. June turns by dipping one of her wings and flinging her tail as a counterweight, careening towards a building on the edge of the block. The lights from the city’s nighttime shine and glimmer off its glass side, a massive wall of glass not unlike the penthouse view.

Loki summons the replenishing reins of his magic, and slashes them, like whips, towards the glass. The entire wall shatters with a momentous sound, falling outwards like water before June flies through, slowing her descent enough so the humans beneath her have time to scream and scatter.

June roars, shaking the entire room. It’s a dark place, lit up by spots of high-contrast lights. The moving streaks of these lights catch on June’s scales or her teeth and make her larger, fiercer than before. The people within are wearing what amounts to formal wear in Loki’s estimation, and now flee from June’s buffeting wings and open maw.

Loki casts about the room, searching for Anthony; he finds the man standing near some water fountain to their left, absolutely motionless. With the dredges of his magic, Loki can barely see a wisp of red magic curling around his eyes. A magic user, here? Who would dare attack a known rider?

 _There,_ Loki says, and June’s head immediately swivels towards him. She roars again and bounds over the crowd to reach him; the people barely move in time to avoid her feet, screaming and shouting. Loki clings to her as she makes her way to Anthony, curling her body around him and flaring her wings to threaten off any from approaching her.

Loki turns his head and catches the sight of snapping, curling magic in his periphery. Between their minds, June sees it, too.

 _Take from me,_  June tells him when he struggles to reach even a hint of magic within him. She’s focused mainly on Anthony, and keeping the humans at bay, but she can spare the magic now. Loki reaches for her, and draws her ancient, heady power into his own body; he doesn’t let it linger in him but channels it into a spell that curls itself around the individual around who the magic centers.

A Midgardian woman, in a slightly under-fashion dress, is caught in Loki’s snare; she snarls at the constraints and strikes back with that red-wisp magic, freeing herself and pushing back at him with blunt, thrown barbs of her power. The humans around her scatter at the explosion of her power.

She’s a witch. Loki diverts her barbs with a summoned white-gold shield and twists his hands in a complicated icon of power, catching the witch’s hands in the spell. She slips free after using a burst of her magic to loosen the spell’s grasp.

Loki has not had the opportunity to duel like this in some time. And this isn’t near a proper duel—Loki is astride a dragon, and this girl has never had a proper teacher (even he can see that in this brief encounter). It’s child’s play to counter her attacks, even more so now that he is a conduit for June’s ancient magic.

This witch, like her magic, is a wily thing, and desperation suits her: she twists and snarls like a beast of prey, caught in a web of her own making meant for another. That web tries to take hold of Loki, too, but he manages to keep her at bay by redirecting her barbs and tendrils to the ceiling, or the sides of June’s body, cracking the tiles and ground with its force. When the witch tries to direct her power onto capturing his body, or June’s, he blocks it with another pulsing shield; he’s protective and defensive, here, cognizant of Anthony’s peril and the humans around them.

Loki does not know who this girl is, or why she struck Anthony as she did; he doesn’t know her powers, her intent, or anything about her. But what he does know is that she attacked Anthony, meddled in his mind—in their minds—and so must pay.

Never let it be said Loki is not a vengeful god. He is a cunning one, clever too; but vengeance sings in his blood, makes his eyes bleed. And when her magic manages to slip past his shields, sliding over June’s scales like crawling and chittering insects, he does not think of how it would be helpful to interrogate her, to make her undo what she has done to Anthony; he does not think of the crowd, of the eyes locked on them; he does not think of anything other than rage and vengeance for hurting what is his.

The insidious magic burns away from the heat of June’s channeled magic, and so too does this witch: her body burns, gold-green flames consuming her hands, her arms. She screams, and burns, and falls.

June says,  _we must leave._

Loki replies _, yes._

With June’s power still coursing through him, like fire in his veins of ice, he slings the magic beneath Anthony’s body and lifts him, motionless, into the air, slipping through the space left between June’s body and her spread wings.

The rider doesn’t even react when Loki grasps him and pulls him over his lap. There’s that witch’s magic clinging to him, slinking and darting away from Loki’s fingers like a sentient thing. The similarities to the things that live in the void make Loki’s chest heave with phantom pain. Loki says,  _I have him._

 _Hold him_.

June leaves the same way she came: she bounds through the path the people have left her and drops from the now open wall before taking flight and lifting up towards the sky. It takes all his strength to hold onto June and Anthony’s body to keep them from falling, but he casts his mind towards the blockage; when it refuses to budge, he tells June,  _I do not know what she did to him. We need to land._

_No. Take us away._

_Away?_  Loki may admit to a hint of panic. June’s voice is different than he’s ever heard it—harder, filled with wrath that makes his brain flare bright with instinctual, animal terror.

_Away from Earth. Make a tear—take us away!_

_It’s not so easy! I need a place, more magic than I have—_

_**Take from me and get us away!** _

Loki gasps and pulls from June’s magic, the source within her; he channels it again, and tears open a space between the realms. June folds her wings down to fit through, and they disappear from Earth with barely more than a vanishing wink of light.

*

A massive yellow dragon appears in the sky above a sprawling, rocky forest in the far north of Vanaheim’s Old World. The stunning lack of wind makes the dragon drop like a rock before it stabilizes, wings spread wide and head tossing.

Something seems to fall from the dragon’s back. If any being dared to live this far north, in this lost land of old gods, they would have seen the dragon dart downwards, catch the falling thing in the talons of its back legs; after its miraculous catch, the yellow dragon descends in a tight spiral through the trees, to the bank of a splitting river.

And so was the return of dragons to Vanaheim, drawn to the old gods that sleep amongst its mountains.

*

June lays Tony on the old soil, careful of his still body as she lands; Loki falls from her back the moment she does, stumbling to his knees. His whole body is shaking with the exhaustion, both from his natural depletion of magic and from channeling that ancient power from June, and he can barely see straight through the trembling of his core. His mark blurs in his vision.

 _Loki,_ says June’s voice.  _Loki._

“I will be okay,” he says, voice croaking, “just…a moment, please…”

Darkness engulfs him—a kind, warm darkness, that helps him breathe. He realizes June has collected him against her, folded him beneath her wing. Cocooned against her, an aura of her magic settling in his skin, he steadies.

 _Thank you for doing as I asked,_ she says.  _I did not feel safe there. You protect us with little thought but think not of you. Breathe._

Loki does. He keeps his stomach and his head calm, and crawls to the river once June releases him from her side to gulp down the icy water. He dips his hands to splash his face, the back of his neck. His vision clears, and his hands cease to shake so violently.

“Anthony,” Loki says, and gets to his feet. He stumbles but remains upright; he furrows his brow and tightens his jaw, makes his way to Anthony’s side. June watches his progress from where she lays next to Anthony’s body, her tail curled protectively around his still body.

Anthony’s eyes are open, and still caught in the witch’s red web; the magic clings there, blocking him from both of them. He breathes, but shallowly, and as Loki touches his skin, feels clammy and cold. Loki presses his palm to his forehead, but he burns there, like a fever.

Loki does all he can, in examination: he presses against the barrier mentally, asks June to do the same, uses the barest pieces of his own magic that remains in him to feel where the spell congregates in his skin, feels for his heartbeat and his heaving breaths; he does all this and more, seeking knowledge in what has been done to their third.

The barrier between Anthony and their minds—the thing blocking their connection—feels like a sentient, malicious thing. It’s not even a proper spell, as far as Loki can tell; it’s a manifestation of intent, a far more insidious, worrisome thing that is harder to combat. Spells have boundaries—manifestations do not. The witch was not even in control enough for formulate a spell. She reached out with her powers, and said, hurt him, or, make him pay, and this was the result.

Loki cannot undo this manifestation now. But he can press into it, peel back its edges far enough so he can reach Anthony’s mind, allow him breathing room within the confines of both Loki and June’s skull. June, who is watching him avidly, does the same in their own connection: finds loose pieces on the barrier, tugs at them, peels them away.

Anthony’s mind is awash with pain and fear and grief, images of twisted bodies and dull eyes barreling at them, tinged at the edges with red. Loki is overwhelmed with it, gasping through tears and a rabbit-paced pulse; June fares little better, keening and yowling as though the pain is her own. But with the burden shared, Anthony’s mind calms, and reaches for them, clasping like a blind man for support.

Loki grasps back.  _Anthony, wake. Whatever you see, what you feel—we are here. Come back to us._

Anthony heaves a great breath in. His eyes flutter, moisture clinging to the lashes. His lips part, tremble. His mind eases, calms. Loki can feel the barrier fight it, press deeper, but it transforms within itself, condensing and tightening into something deeper and crueler than this separation.

Anthony’s eyes open, rove about the two of them. His expression wobbles between relief and anguish before he says,  _never again, can’t survive it, please not again, take me instead_  and collapses into sleep.


	5. Atlas and the Sisterhood of Travelling Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's absolutely Fucked with a capital F, and honestly, it's nothing new. Loki has his scheduled bi-monthly meltdown--but on the bright side, he can get his "I had an emotional breakdown about a dragon" merit badge, so now he can iron it onto his Dragon Rider club jacket. June learns about some dragon bedtime stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen guys there aren't even rules anymore. im just updating whenever now. time doesnt exist 
> 
> I'm messing around with HTML which is probably a mistake so if anything's wonky, it's my fault first, ao3's second, and paul rudd's third because I'm sure he's had a hand in it.
> 
> TW: Oh, also, on a serious note there's a very brief passing mention of attempting suicide in this chapter. Nothing's shown and it's not discussed at length, but I've tagged it. If you want to skip it, avoid Loki's lines when he starts an out-loud dialogue about terror in relation to Wanda's spell.
> 
> Thanks for reading y'all, hope you enjoy, and time is fake so see you again always/never/now/then

Tony feels like he’s laying on the bottom of a boat, tipping and rocking on a windy bed of water. Like he’s being lulled to sleep. Sometimes he feels closer to the sky than he does the water, closer to hearing and seeing what’s around him—beyond the lip of his little buoy—but other times he sinks down, the boat opening to let the warm water tug him down down down down

He’s lifted, now. He feels heavy, water-logged. There’s fear, somewhere, tightening the skin on his sternum, making his soul tremble.

He thinks he hears something, but the water in his ears muffles it. It’s loud, whatever’s going on above the surface—but it’s beyond him, beyond his strength. He’s just so fucking tired.

The water calls him, and Tony lets it take him.

*

The heaviness returns, but so too does the air. He’s close to the surface, fingers breaching into cold air, but he can’t find the strength to reach for help. Not like there would be anyone there to lift him free, but he’s too tired even for that rejection.

Are those voices? The water muffles them, but Tony strains. Was he not alone, here? Who is watching him sleep…is it someone coming to hurt him?

“…need to go back, I don’t have the strength…”

…? The voice descends into muted tones but carries on again after a bout of silence. A phone conversation? What are they waiting for? But Tony can swear he can hear the other’s voice, somewhere different than through a speaker…

“Yes, we will be safe here, but I require aid to…”

It fades. Tony resists the urge to sigh; instead, he dips consentingly below into his rest and he relishes the feeling of the water taking him down, cradling his body and his sleep.

*

It feels like no time at all has passed the next time he’s lifted. God, he’s so tired. He feels like he’s been sleeping forever, but also like can’t fall asleep. Like he’s some limbo that gives him neither wakefulness nor rest. Why can’t he just sleep?

The voices are there, this time. There’s heat, too; a bone-warming heat that makes Tony’s water-wrinkled skin pimple up in the residual chill.

Something’s touching him. His eyes feel like they’re made of lead, but this warmth is so nice, he has to see what’s warming him, to ask if he can stay, maybe here he can sleep a little better…

“…htony? Can you hear me? Anthony?”

Shit, that’s him. Who’s waiting for him? He finally manages to crack his eyes open, and it’s dark wherever he is, with spitting and tumbling orange light behind a figure that’s close to him. Who would bother to try and wake him when it’s dark? Pepper? …Mom?

“That’s it,” says the voice, a little clearer now. But the water is still running from Tony’s ears and clogging up his nose, and his eyes are even heavier than before. “You’re here, with us. You will be okay.”

Tony sighs, settles into the warmth, eyelids fluttering. Something touches his face, something even colder than the water, making him reopen his eyes in surprise. The face is a little clearer, now—pale, dark hair, bright eyes lightening by the…fire?...behind them. A man? It can’t be Dad, he never bothered to wake Tony up for anything, let alone sit at his bedside…Jarvis?

“Drink, Anthony, you have to drink something…”

That’s Jarvis. Tony obligingly tries to open his mouth, to unstick his throat; Jarvis meets him halfway and there’s more water, and it’s like being reminded of its taste draws Tony back down. He pulls his lips away and sighs again, mumbling his thanks through the descending weight.

“June is searching for help, Anthony, we will be okay. We will all be okay…”

Tony sleeps, wondering how Jarvis had found the strength to crawl out of his grave.

*

It feels like he’s flying. Skimming along the water, passing by without care, without a wake—soaring, like in all his dreams.

Tony opens his eyes. Wind whistles in his ears, but softly—he can feel it displace his eardrums, through the haze.

It’s a wide blue expanse above him. It doesn’t even seem to be moving, except for the occasional wisp of white that fades into view and then away. Is he really flying?

Tony watches the sky. When he goes back to sleep, he only succumbs after fighting for another minute, another second to enjoy the sensation of weightlessness and the wind against his face.

*

Something reaches for him, tugs a part of him loose with a squelching-tearing sound. Tony’s awareness pulses, and he wakes long enough to feel it grasp his wrists, tug him up through the black water.

 ** _Come, little one_** _,_ says the voice, clear and deep around him. **_They are waiting for you._**

Tony goes.

**

Loki replaces Anthony’s cold compress, then darts his eyes back to the sky. June’s mind is far from him but remains open—she’s returning from her daily trek to find whatever’s calling her here.

The first night they remained in Vanaheim, Loki had sworn upon ancestors he’d long forsaken trying to convince her to take them to Alfheim, or even to Earth so Anthony could be seen to by mind healers. He’d even tried to convince her Asgard would be better for Anthony than flying around Vanaheim’s lost country, but June had become insistent, stubborn even, in her hunch that the answer to Anthony’s illness was somewhere in the mountains of the old gods.

They hadn’t met a single traveler, in their weeks spent here. This far north, no one dared. Except them. June’s instincts were calling to her, pulling her away from them for hours at a time to search for whatever she heard. It was past her allotted time, however—past the time she was meant to return to take both Loki and Anthony in the direction she’d decided.

Anthony barely stirs beneath Loki’s hand. He’s woken a handful of times since they tore through the barrier, but never for more than a handful of seconds. Not after that second day.

Loki shivers with that hint of memory. He shoves it down, unwilling to let Anthony’s sedated mind even feel the touch of that day. He sends nothing but calm and companionship through their drooping connection, even though he had the feeling Anthony was nowhere near close enough to consciousness to understand it.

Above him, he hears the distinct sound of June’s wings on the windless air. He stands from Anthony’s bedside in today’s camp—a small clearing near a mountain river, the water from which was Loki’s source for the compresses for Anthony’s fever—and cranes his head back to watch her appear above the hundred-foot tall trees.

June appears, hovers in the canopy before descending. The lack of wind here is an unsettling thing at night, to know that whenever leaves rustle, it is a living thing out there and not a benevolent breeze. But for June, it makes her flights more strenuous, since there is no gliding, no tailwinds to direct her.

The dragon lands, shakes her wings. Loki says, _what news?_

She can feel his fear, anger, uncertainty. She does not avoid it now. _Good. I feel we are approaching. Allow me to rest a moment and we shall arrive by nightfall._

 _And what if,_ Loki starts, _nothing is there? What if this time we have spent camping like children is for naught?_

 _It will not be,_ June replies. _I would never harm Tony. Nothing else can help him except this._

 _How do you know?_ Loki has to consciously keep his mental voice from raising into a yell. _How do you know?_

 _I feel it,_ June explains, not for the first time. This is not the first time for this conversation by a long shot. _Trust me, second-bonded. Please._

 _I do,_ Loki sighs, returning to Anthony’s side to mop his forehead once more. His closed eyes flicker beneath his lids, but they do not open. _Why else do you think I have not taken him on my own?_

 _Thank you,_ is her only reply.

They spend only a handful of minutes at camp, allowing June to ease her wings. Loki stomps the fire down and packs their meager belongings into a small satchel they stole from a castle they had found in the lost mountains. Loki had scavenged the entire place one day, leaving June with Anthony, so they had rations, wine skins to fill with water, blankets, and leathers to stuff Loki’s pants with so his skin isn’t flayed meat from riding saddleless.  Then, he unfolds the litter that has carried Anthony during their daily flights—made from sturdy wood from the same castle and one of its thicker blankets, which had immediately become only Anthony’s—and deposits the sleeping man onto it. He uses the crude straps to secure Anthony’s legs and chest.

 _I am ready,_ June says. _Shall I carry him or will you hold him?_

Loki considers. With Anthony on June’s back, with Loki, he can catch any of Anthony’s returning paranoia symptoms before they devolve, but the trip is far less stable. He shakes his head, and says, _you, today. His fever is down._

June agrees, and lifts to her back legs so she can grasp the harness straps in her front talons. She lets Loki balance the stretcher, checking its ropes and wood before climbing to her back. He bites back a groan as his hips spread, his body long since bruised and aching from the near constant travelling.

June takes off, and she rises above the towering trees; she directs herself towards the northeast, where mountains rise and fall on the horizon, and flies.

*

Vanaheim’s sky turns to a champagne-rose hue by the time June begins to descend. Loki huffs and readjusts himself, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. The flight was uneventful, as usual, and the quiet had done nothing to ease his sore body. He does not complain, though, since he knows June was twice as tired and worn. She’s flying twice as much as he is and has never quite eaten her fill whenever one of them manages to catch the elusive prey animals darting between the massive trees.

June’s mind goes taut. She stops descending, and instead speeds up, darting towards the treetops to reach the base of a mountain to their left. It’s a noticeably smaller mountain than the rest of the range, but still reaches its rounded peak into the clouds.

 _Here,_ she says. _It’s here._

Loki’s heart picks up. He examines the mountain and its surrounding land, some covered with trees and other parts open wildflower fields, but there’s no sign of any sentient life—no castles, or old forts, temples, towns, huts, smoke—

June dips beneath the trees and exits into a clearing. There’s almost a hollow, in the ground, like a canyon that splits open the green soil into wine-red rock. From above, it almost looks like a massive foot print, like some immense god placed its foot there when the planet was still young and lifted it after the rock had dried. The hollow is wider than June’s wingspan, so she can float easily down to its bottom, setting Anthony gently down before landing with a crunch.

The rock here reverberates with sound, soaking it in and then amplifying it. Loki feels equally unsettled and miniscule now that he’s within this place, like he’s dwarfed and ready for a boot to descend to crush him. The god returning to its starting place.

 _Here,_ June says. She allows Loki to slide from her back, crumpling briefly while stumbling to Anthony, before she approaches the front of the hollow, which opens to reveal the side of the steep mountainside. The sudden flush of greenery is eye-catching, life teeming there beyond the hollow walls; the ground there blushes with moss and vines and ancient grass, clinging to the soil as it ascends.

“Where are we?” Loki asks, wincing as his voice echoes haughtily around the rock. His fingers tremble as he unstraps Anthony, feels his pulse. He has not felt this kind of instinctual fear since before June was his ally—when he had stared up at her armored throat, or when she had doused him in her fyre, he had thought death itself had taken her shape—but even that terror feels dwarfed in comparison to now. It’s a gargantuan feeling, this terror, resonating from whatever resides here.

June doesn’t answer. She plants herself at their side, and roars.

Loki snaps to cover his ears, almost howling at the pain of June’s echoing and reverberating roar. His skull feels like its shaking his brain loose, with how it vibrates beneath his fingers. Anthony does not stir as Loki shields his head with his own body, curling over him in some form of protection.

The roar ceases, but echoes.  

_June, what—_

The mountain moves.

Loki staggers back, trembling, onto his back when he sees the mountainside shudder, then shift. He can only stare, mouth agape and mind silent, as a massive piece of the ground moves, opening like a, a—an _eye_.

A deep, ancient red eye stares out at them, struck through with lines of taupe and brown and grey; it’s pupil, slit and contracted, is large enough for June’s entire body to fit in. Loki has swum in lakes that are smaller than its iris. Loki has never seen anything like this, never something so large, so _alive,_ and Loki has the stuttering thought as to what is there beyond it, where is its body—

And then Loki realizes the entire mountain, for the thousands of feet it stretches upwards and lengthwise, is this creature’s body.

Loki realizes this mountain, in all its essence, is a colossal dragon.

*

June had felt this dragon’s presence the moment they came to this land. She felt its breaths in the ground beneath her, felt its magic slithering in the water. And now, she stands before it: an ant before its titanic size. From their place within this hollow—where one of its limbs must have rested centuries ago—she can only see its one eye, and the dragon does not move, lest it disturb the life growing upon its back. An entire ecosystem has made its home on its scales, tree roots clinging to the ravines between its scales, woodland animals nesting in its antlers.

June steps before her bonded and reaches out her mind. The dragon, now awake, allows her to touch; and she feels a rolling thunder of amusement as she nearly balks from the unthinkably heavy weight of even one of its thoughts.

But it does not pull away. June protects her riders by shielding her connections, and calls to this dragon’s mind, _my kin!_

 ** _Hatchling,_** returns the ancient dragon. Its thoughts are heavy with the weight of thousands upon thousands of years lived, bearing down fully upon June.

_I have found you. I am June, dragon of Stark, bonded of Laufeyson._

**_So young, already twice-bonded?_ _An impressive feat, hatchling June._**

_I come for aid,_ June says. She’s not exactly eager to be released from this dragon’s weight, but her body is tired, and her mind even more so, stretched thin from worry. _My rider, another has touched his mind, twisted a spell upon it. We cannot fix it._

Some emotion, twisted and layered and complex, bears down upon June’s mind; her knees buckle, and she lays down under its force, panting. The emotion retreats as quickly as it had come.

 _Please,_ she begs of this dragon. She cannot see more than its eye, but she raises her head nonetheless to plead directly to it. _Please, help him._

 ** _You are my kin,_** says the dragon. **_Lead me to him._**

June opens her mind, an exhausted feat, and takes a sliver the dragon offers of its mind to her connection with Tony. Loki, at her side, winces as he feels the weight through her. She feels the dragon enter Tony’s mind, through her, and lingers there.

The dragon retreats, and June shivers and keens as she feels its mind pull away through her, like sliding beneath her scales, a writhing and unseen snake. Something pulsing and lashing follows it, and then is gone. Her muscles sag at its withdrawal.

Beside her, Tony gasps in a weak, labored breath. His closed eyes open, blinking, and he swallows; Loki reaches for him, murmuring. June can barely hear the words.

 ** _Magic has changed,_ ** it says to her, even farther from her mind. Even at this distance the weight feels unbearable. **_He is well._**

 _Thank you,_ June whispers. _Thank you._

 ** _Sleep,_ ** it says. **_I will watch over your bonded._**

June sleeps.

*

Tony feels as though he’s waking up after surgery. A bone-deep grogginess clings to him as he fights to wake, lifting his consciousness up and up until he feels his body again, fingers and toes and blood and eyes, all still part of him. He breathes and feels his lungs; he squints and feels his eyes; he tightens his hand and feels another’s holding his.

Tony turns his head, laboriously. Loki is laying next to him, eyes shut, their hands clasped between them, held up to touch each of their collarbones. He looks—exhausted, with deep rings beneath his eyes and streaks of sunburn across his nose and cheeks.

Groaning, Tony reaches up his other hand to scrub at his face. He feels more than groggy—he feels like he’s been asleep for years, like fucking Sleeping Beauty waiting for a kiss. Why does he hurt everywhere? And—where _are_ they? It feels like he’s lying on the ground.

As Tony tries to sit up, Loki stirs beside him. Their connection warms between them, like Tony’s consciousness was a beacon for Loki to follow. His eyes open, and he sits up, darting, with an expression of utter relief that’s as bewildering as it is touching.

“Anthony,” he says, smiling in such a way that lights up his whole face with barely showing his teeth. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Anthony replies, hoarsely. He looks around—they’re in some sort of…stone room, but without a roof; the dusk/dawn light from the sky is spilling down onto them. It’s eerily enough like a cave to make Tony suspicious. “Where are we? What happened?”

“We are in the far north of Vanaheim,” Loki replies. He’s still holding Tony’s hand. Tony looks down at them and sees the other’s hands are tanner, more calloused than he remembers. Loki seems to realize he’s still holding on and tries to pull away, but Tony holds on to pull himself up into a sitting position. “You…some witch attacked you, while you were at the festivities. June had me bring you here, I could not undo the spell she placed on you by myself…”

Tony has a sudden flash of June’s dead body and Loki’s dying words. He winces, pulls away from Loki’s grip, hugging his quaking abdomen.

“Anthony,” Loki says, almost reaching for him but pulling back at the last moment. “I know she did something to you, with your mind, but whatever it was…”

“Wasn’t real,” Tony finishes after he catches sight of June, slowly rousing herself from sleep beside them. Alive, she’s alive. “It wasn’t real. Any of it.”

“No,” Loki agrees. “Nothing you saw after you left the Tower was real, not until this moment.”

Tony takes in a deep breath. He firmly pushes those memories— _visions—_ down and corks them in a bottle to deal with later (read: never).  “Okay. Okay.”

In the time it takes for Tony to get himself calm, June wakes and wraps herself around the both of them, trilling and whimpering softly, equal parts happy and frightened. Tony reaches for her mind and she engulfs them both, pulling Loki into her mental embrace, holding them tight against her.

_Tony, Tony. My rider, my bonded, love Tony, love you…_

_Love you too, baby girl,_ Tony replies, soaking her in. Her presence already soothes his frayed nerves and the heat she’s building up from her curled-in body is warming his shivering skin.

There’s a deep, earth-rumbling sound that hits Tony right in the chest, like a deep and loud bass drum, shaking his bones with a deep vibration. At first Tony thinks its an earthquake, or a volcano or some natural event, but both Loki and June turn forward, towards an opening of the rock walls, and Tony can see a wide red expanse on the hillside there.

Oh. Oh, _shit_ , that’s an _eye._

“Oh shit, that’s an eye,” Tony says aloud.

“Yes,” Loki replies, lowly. He’s transfixed like a deer staring at an oncoming truck is spellbound by its headlights. “Yes, it is.”

June carefully shields Tony, the equivalent of placing her body between him and a threat. He can distantly hear her words, like he’s listening through a keyhole, but he can still make out, _I thank you, great ancestor. You have given me a gift I cannot repay._

He can hear the creature’s ( _is this a fucking dragon??_ He asks Loki, to which Loki replies, _yes_ , in a tone of voice that speaks of very deep awe-filled terror) reply with no effort whatsoever, even through June’s protection. **_‘Tis a gift, hatchling June. You need not repay._**

_Thank you._

**_Is your rider’s health all that brought you to my bed?_ **

_No, ancestor,_ June replies. Tony can feel her straining now, her mind accommodating the words of this massive fucking dragon alone. Tony pushes at her connection, and tells her, _let me help you, June—_

It’s a testament to how tired she must be that she allows it, even after he’s been spellbound or whatever for who knows how long. Tony takes some of the weight, and _wow,_ who would have thought a mind could weigh so much? It’s like trying to hold up a planet, pressing into its gravity to reestablish orbit. Is this what Atlas felt like?

Loki takes the weight, too, sweat breaking out across his brow. Tony takes his hand in solidarity without even thinking about it.

 ** _Ah, your bonded,_** the dragon says, and it almost sounds pleased. **_I know my voice is a heavy one, young ones. I try to ease your way._**

 _We are unused to it, that is all,_ June hurries to explain. _There are none left to speak to like this._

 ** _None?_ ** The dragon repeats. And shit, if they thought just speaking to this dragon was painful, feeling the weight of its grief and anguish is ten times worse. Loki actually cries out before the dragon retreats, further than before. **_I apologize, second-bonded. I had thought…my kin…_**

 _Who are you?_ Tony asks—well, more like he screams it, since he has a feeling this dragon is ancient and might have some hearing issues. Also, June is still filtering the conversation and Tony’s not sure if it’s two-ways.

 ** _Enough time has passed to erase the stories of my name?_** The dragon replies, again with a hint of that mourning. **_A sorrowful time. I am Shi, dragon of Agamotto, Protector of Time._**

 _Protector of Time?_ Tony repeats. _Like, time itself, or the Time Stone?_

 ** _You know not?_** Shi repeats. **_There are no other ancestors to pass the stories? How long?_**

 _Millenia,_ Loki replies, sounding exhausted but trying very hard to hide it. _The stories are all but legends. High Dragons have not lived for eons._

 ** _I, of all the Protectors, should have known,_ ** Shi mourns. Now that the three of them have braced together, Shi’s voice, while heavier than anything any of them have experienced, feels more comforting than crushing. ** _I saw a time when there were none and said nothing. But you have returned, sister, the eons of our death are over. Dragons shall live on._**

Shi’s massive red eye closes, flora falling from his moving eyelid, moss and grass and flowers shifting before he opens it again. They can’t see any more of his body from beneath the topsoil and mountain plants, but they can see the swells and valleys of his body, where his antlers high above them pierce the clouds like twisted trees, hung with ornaments of vines and nests and curling trees; they can see his front leg, a smaller curled hillside, leading up to the mountain of his body and shoulder; they can’t see any indication of his wings, where they lay, but for a dragon to be this large, their wingspan must be a mile long.

 ** _As is the custom of our kin,_ ** Shi says, **_allow me to impart the stories of old upon you, June, dragon of Stark. It is now your duty to carry them._**

*

Tony can feel when Shi withdraws from June’s mind, leaving behind dozens upon dozens of the ancient stories within. He hadn’t caught any of the stories themselves, but he can hear them rattling around inside of her head, slowly finding their places.

June blocks him out, all at once. Tony retreats to let the dragons talk, since yeah, this is June’s literal first experience with her own kind, so he gives her the space. He can sort of still hear Shi’s voice though, even when he tries to ignore them, so it’s not _really_ eavesdropping.

 ** _Yes_** , Shi says, obviously in some kind of reply. **_You are familiar to me—I recognize you, as you recognized me._**

Something from June. Tony really tries to retreat, but Shi’s voice is unavoidable when you’re connected by the mental hip.

 ** _None of them have found me. If they have been Reborn, it was not here._** A reply. ** _You were always the one of cleverness. If there was any that could, it is you._**

Loki glances at him, obviously privy to the conversation as well. Tony shrugs, content in the knowledge June will tell them whatever they need to know.

**_A wise decision._ **

Hell yeah, June’s already impressing the old geezer. Tony grins a little at Loki, who has turned his body away from Shi’s massive Sauron eye without losing a direct eyeline. He doesn’t return the smile.

**_Go, then, hatchling. I will remain. My body is old, yours spritely. You hold the stories, now. I will return to sleep, waiting for the others should they hatch._ **

*

“It seems like we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Tony says after they watch Shi’s massive red eye close and feel his mind recede into slumber. June opens their connection again, and Tony immediately feels June is muting the parts of her memory that were given to her by Shi. “First off: what the fuck?”

“I agree,” Loki says, slumping to the ground.

June turns to them, wraps them up in her warm body, settling down like a cat to its nap. _My heritage,_ June says. _Shi was the last of the Dragons. I am the first._

Tony tiredly pats June’s snout. “I knew you were amazing, baby girl.”

_Loki was right. I am…connected to the Mind Stone, its Protector. The ancestor was adamant upon that fact._

And if that wasn’t an oblique lie, Tony didn’t know what was. June’s really picking up little tricks from Loki, which is an interesting thing to feel proud of, but he is.

“I am very rarely wrong,” Loki agrees from his place on the ground, staring up at the dusk sky.

Tony laughs. He can’t help it. Seeing a mountain come to life and feel the weight of a million-year-old dragon or something bear down on him is just the kind of thing that _would_ happen to them.

“So,” Tony says. “Who’s hungry? I’m _famished_.”

*

Tony devours three weird rabbit-esque spit roasts, more than half their hunt. June had caught a wildebeest-thing that has six legs and ate it in a terrifyingly short amount of time. Loki picked at his share, visibly unsettled. They’re sitting around a campfire about a half mile away from the hollow where they talked to Shi, since none of them really wanted to linger under the behemoth’s closed eye.

“Okay, I want to clear some things up for me,” Tony starts. “What happened to me? Loki, you said something about a witch?”

“She placed a malevolent manifestation upon your mind that cut you off from us,” Loki replies, not looking up. “June had me take us off Earth, for fear of further magical retaliation. Since I just returned from Vanaheim, the fabric between Midgard and here was thin. June insisted she knew some…one here could help you, so we stayed.”

“Sweet,” Tony replies. “How long? And why was I unconscious the whole time?”

Loki swallows, but it’s not around a piece of his meat. “Close to a fortnight, considering the time conversions."

“Two weeks!” Tony cries out. “Oh, god, Pepper’s gonna kill me.”

“You were unconscious,” Loki continues, “because the manifestation, once removed as a barrier, placed you in a state of perpetual terror. You struck out at us, attempted to take your own life, and tore at our minds in your fear. We thought it prudent to make you sleep rather than live in that state.”

Tony quiets. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Loki asks, still not looking at either of them. “It was the witch’s magic, not you. And now you are healed.”

Tony glances at June. Loki’s mental connection is tuned off, almost muted; Tony can feel him, but nothing of his emotional state. But something’s gotten to him, Tony can feel it. “Okay. Uh, so, Shi. Big ol’ High Dragon.”

Loki doesn’t respond.

 _Shi’s stories of my kind,_ June answers instead, _argue for our plan to search for the eggs of the Protectors of the stones. Should Thanos know even an inkling of the power one of us could wield…_

“Yeah, sounds good,” Tony says, still watching Loki. He looks battered, almost derelict: his hair is drawn up in a ponytail with a piece of string, greasy and dirty, strands falling over his downcast eyes; his skin is burned and tanned and streaked with dirt. His clothes, the same he returned from the last trip to Vanaheim, are in pieces and patchworked with strips of leather and weird cloth, and he’s sitting awkwardly, like his entire body is one big bruise. There’s dirt beneath his nails. He looks pulled apart, barely keeping himself together.

And most of all, he looks exhausted, withdrawn. Solitary.

“Hey, Loki,” Tony says, after the conversation fades against the crackling of the fire. “I can hear a creek nearby. Help me get there? I feel like I’m stinking up the joint.”

Loki nods and stands, placing his uneaten rabbit-thing to the side. Loki’s not hesitant about touching Tony, in getting under his arm to help him stand, guiding him through the trees. Tony’s noticing as they walk that there isn’t any wind around them, which is _super_ weird and now that he’s realized it he can’t stop thinking about it.

“What’s up with the wind?” he asks, because wow, this feels like it’s going to be an emotionally tough conversation and Tony’s not ready for it.

“This is the land of the old gods,” Loki replies, softly. “Even the wind dares not disturb their sleep.”

“Think they named it that because of Shi?”

Loki startles, like he hadn’t even thought of it. “It could very well be so.”

Tony lets it drop, since Loki doesn’t continue. They come upon the creek, and Loki helps Tony slide down the bank to sit on a rock close to an eddy pool so he can reach it easily. Loki makes to give him space, but Tony asks him, “What’s on your mind, then, Loki? About all this. Give me the rundown.”

Tony can hear Loki shrug. “It is as June said. We must search for the eggs and strike at Thanos before he becomes too powerful.”

“I’m onboard with that,” Tony agrees, rubbing at his forearms with the water. He’s still in his white button down, some of the cloth torn out and away, and his suit jacket’s long gone. “But I meant more like what you’re thinking about it. Obviously, these past couple weeks were harder on you than it was on me.”

“You were the one with a curse!” Loki gapes, almost snapping.

Tony shrugs. “And I slept through most of it. Thanks, by the way. The shit I was seeing was…well, let’s just say I’m glad I was asleep.”

“It matters not,” Loki huffs. “It is done with. We will return to home soon enough, and this shall all be behind us.”

There’s a kind of eagerness-desperation in his voice with that. Tony turns his head to look at Loki, catch his body language—curled in, holding his abdomen—before he clarifies, “away from Shi, you mean.”

Loki grimaces. “Yes. No. It…confuses me, my reaction to him.”

Tony scoots over on his mossy dry rock and pats the space next to him, trying to make it look inviting. “Come on over,” he says. When Loki, begrudgingly, does, Tony promptly ignores him and goes out wrangling off his dress shoes and sticking his feet in the water. He’s careful to let his thigh press against Loki’s in what (he hopes) is a comforting way. Tony doesn’t really do comforting, but damn it, he’s going to try.

“I was raised on stories of dragons like him,” Loki says, unprompted. “Colossal dragons that could swallow planets whole. But when I saw him, his eye—all I could see was a creature like that with Thanos as its rider.”

“Shit,” Tony says, unbidden; he hadn’t meant to talk, but Loki snorts in agreement.

“An unfounded fear, as far as I can tell. But it will not leave me. It is…sticking, here, in my mind,” Loki says, stabbing at his forehead with a dirty finger. “The _power_ he would wield…I cannot—I _will_ not be at the mercy of…”

Growling, Loki stands, splashing into the creek. It comes up to his ankles. “I will _not_ be his toy again,” he seethes, fists clenched, shoulders trembling. “I will not let you, or June, be his either—I cannot fail you—if he should take you, or her, I could never…I have not earned forgiveness, but this would be…irredeemable.  Irrefutable proof of my incompetence, of my _nature_ …”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Tony calls, standing and approaching until he’s right up in Loki’s space, curling around him so he can see his expression. His whole face is twisted in pain, eyes screwed up with tears leaking from the corners. Tony has never heard Loki be so inarticulate, and it’s starting to freak him out how much this line of thinking is fucking with Loki’s headspace. “Loki, listen to me. None of that is going to happen. Just like nothing happened with me, my visions? It won’t with you too. Okay?”

“You cannot _know that,_ ” Loki chokes. “If Thanos ever captured you or June, he would _break_ you, turn you into his playthings—his _puppets,_ and it would be my fault, he would not touch you if it were not for me _falling,_ if I hadn’t handed myself to him!”

“Loki!” Tony snaps, grapping onto his elbows and shaking him; the god’s got more than a couple inches on him, but his head is downturned, and it gives Tony space to duck to catch his attention, holding on tight to his body. The creek rustles and roams around their ankles. “Loki, _stop._ Stop blaming yourself for shit you can’t control—for things that haven’t happened yet! And I _do_ know that none of that shit will happen because June and I aren’t helpless. We’ve got each other, and we’ve got _you.”_

“I am nothing,” Loki chokes out, between teeth grinding in anger and from the force of not allowing himself to break down. “I am…”

“I swear to God, if you say, ‘a monster’ I’m going to punch you in the face,” Tony warns. He shakes Loki’s arms more vigorously, and continues, “how little do you think of us, huh? You think you’d be a high dragon’s second-bonded if you were just some shit stain? You think I’d let you be around my baby girl if I didn’t like you? You’re a mage, you’re fucking hot, you’re a fucking Norse god—come on, just look at me!”

It takes a minute. But eventually he does open his eyes, and they’re blazing with deep and conflicting emotions that Tony can barely feel through their connection, but now they start to break through, bleeding from underneath the doorjamb.  Fear, anger—wow, a whole fucking lot of anger—even more pain, wanting, betrayal, the fear of loss. There’s moisture collecting around the reddened rim of his exhausted eyes, he’s tense beneath Tony’s hands, but he’s looking.

Tony makes sure to hold his eyes. “I’m being serious. You’re not being unreasonable or stupid or cowardly. Your fears about Thanos and these dragons aren’t unfounded, cause that thing was fucking insane, and I’m pretty sure it’s more related to something by H.P. Lovecraft than Lord of the Rings, you know? That dragon is some existential nightmare fuel. You’re not fucked up because it fucked you up—you’re having a _normal reaction to a dragon the size of a mountain._ ”

“You are not,” Loki grits out.

“Uh, newsflash, yeah I am,” Tony laughs, almost jittering. “You just can’t feel it ‘cause you locked me out. I’ve had a lot of experience putting this kind of shit under lock and key, Loki. How do you think I’m not freaking out over everything I saw while I was under that spell?”

Loki breathes in, shakily, his body still out of his control. Tony wraps a hand around the back of his head, pulls his forehead down so Tony can press his brow there, muttering, “just let me in, Loki. I can help.”

“If you see,” Loki mutters, almost broken, “you will leave.”

And there’s the heart of it. Abandonment issues all the way to the bone.

“Nope,” Tony replies, holding Loki’s head closer, pressing their forehead together as tight as he can without it hurting. “You’re stuck with me, Loki. Let me in and you’ll see.”

Loki sighs, his whole body deflating, pressing down onto Tony’s body like a stringless puppet. Loki’s mind opens to him, the connection unlocked, and Tony presses in, sweeping up all the clutter and fear that’s in his way. He lets Loki embrace his mind, feel the places he’s locked away his own fears, more numerous and creative than Tony cares to think about; in turn, Loki leads him to the places that have become unmoored, shaken loose by Shi’s existence.

Tony doesn’t try to fix the broken places. He lets Loki know he understands, that he’s felt what Loki is now, and that he believes Loki and June and Tony all with survive.

They stay like that for a long time, countless, before Loki finally pulls his mind away, releasing a shaking sigh as they split apart and return to their own heads. Tony doesn’t want to move. Loki’s forehead is cool against his but his breath is warm where it mingles with Tony’s; his hands have come up to grip Tony’s elbows, digging there with a persistent pressure. Tony opens his eyes and sees Loki’s are closed, lids trembling, restoring order where before he had been falling apart at the seams.

Tony watches his face as Loki finally gathers his control and opens his eyes. There’s still moisture making his eyes shine, streaking down the dirt on his face, but his expression is calmer, quieter.

“Better?”

“Some,” Loki whispers. “And you?”

“I will be,” Tony answers, truthfully.

The creek twists around them, eddies and whirlpools forming around their ankles. Neither of them feels the cold anymore.

*

Loki manages to tear them a hole closer to Stark Tower, this time, and they end up getting home with only a short forty-minute flight. Although June’s hiding it, she’s exhausted, and when she lands on the penthouse floor, she immediately sprawls inside and goes to sleep.

Tony immediately calls Pepper, after alerting JARVIS that they’re all okay. Pepper rips him a new one over the phone, followed by a harrowing sentence: “A woman died when June and Loki stole you from the gala.”

“Who? How?”

“A woman named Wanda Maximoff. She caught on fire, Tony. We’ve been doing damage control ever since, but luckily SHIELD stepped in, kept the cause of death out of the papers. Nobody knows if it was June or Loki who did it, and a lot of people are assuming it was June since, you know, she’s a dragon. So now there’s some of chatter about her...not being in control.”

Tony closes his eyes, breathes deeply. “Okay. We can fix this.”

“Can we?”

“Well, seeing as that was probably the witch that put a spell on my head, yeah, I think we can,” Tony replies. “We had to fuck off to another planet to fix it, Pepper. We can spin this now that we’re back.”

“If you say so, Tony,” Pepper replies, not exactly disbelievingly. “Just be safe, Tony.”

“Sure thing, Pep, you too.”

“You _are_ okay now, aren’t you?”

“Right as rain. Talk to you tomorrow, Ms. Potts.”

“Mr. Stark.”

Tony goes to find Loki immediately, since he figures June wouldn’t have killed someone without giving him a heads up. Tony ends up finding him in his room, dusting off his desk; he barges in without knocking. “Did you kill someone?”

“Yes, Anthony,” Loki replies, immediately. “I have killed many people, however, so you ought to narrow it down for me.”

“Woman at the gala?”

“Ah, the witch. Yes. I did not _exactly_ intend to kill her, but I did not spare a thought that she may not survive.”

Tony grips the bridge of his nose and tries to remember Loki had an emotional breakdown three hours before. “Well, the public is apparently up in arms about it, ‘cause they think June is dangerous. I think we can make them forget about her being scary, but SHIELD is gonna be up our asses about it, especially since they know about you.”

“I fail to see the problem. I acted in your defense.”

“Yeah, and killed someone doing it!”

“A witch with no control!” Loki snaps back. “She _hurt_ you!”

“SHIELD isn’t gonna see it that way,” Tony warns.

“You speak as though I care what your mortal organizations think about me.”

*

June has never been interested in Tony’s political world. Working politics, schmoozing the right businessman—that’s pretty much half of what Tony did as CEO. Sure, he did it better after Afghanistan—and June—before he handed the reins to Pepper, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to work the circuit.

And that’s what Tony does. He makes a couple calls, some of which are calling in favors, others are calling in blackmail, and gets the governmental committee to halt their half-hearted investigation into June. After all, half the people responsible for the probe owed Tony or Stark Industries hefty favors and had been personally called upon when they were assigned the task of watching June to make sure they knew their limits. Tony found the whole thing distasteful—what with warping the system with his influence—but he did it for June when they escaped Afghanistan, and he’d do it again.

Which, Tony supposes, is exactly what he’s doing.

With the government probe handled, Tony turns to public opinion by midafternoon. This one is even easier than the probe; he’s been preparing a package for something like this ever since June got big enough to start eyeing people’s pet dogs during ground outings.

The world wants to love June. The public _wants_ to be fond of her. And all Tony has to do is give them a reason again.

So, Tony releases a video he has one of the Stark Industries PR department film that night—in it, he leans on June’s snout as she’s sleeping, snores occasionally rising from her nose, and explains a bit about their connection. He talks about how June, in all her mystical dragon ways, can sense his wellbeing, and came to his rescue like a faithful friend when she felt he was in danger. He doesn’t mention the death, but addresses the more general fears, like property destruction and June’s intelligence.

When the video is done, Tony also sets up an “anonymous leak” of videos of June when she was a baby: her snooping in the pantry at the Malibu mansion, sleeping on Tony’s chest, chasing around a laser light like a cat. He stages the leaks to drop all at once, like someone got into his personal files and dumped them; he holds the drop back so it’ll leak three days after the video about the gala, though, so it doesn’t look like he did it.

It’s simple, and Pepper approves of it all before Tony releases anything; after all, it’s her company now.

SHIELD is more difficult.

Fury calls him up after the first video drop, spitting mad, and sends over a unit of SHIELD agents—including Coulson—to sit on him until Fury flies up from DC. Tony lets them up and freaks them out a bit by not telling them June was lounging in the penthouse. Loki comes out some point looking like death warmed over, and glares at the agents for long enough they actually kind of break composure.

Tony and Coulson chat for a while, avoiding the dragon in the room, until Fury gets to the Tower.

“Stark, so kind of you to join us again,” he says, in a falsely cheery voice. He looks the same as he did on the hellicarrier: mean and wearing black.

“Well, the thing is, Fury—”

“Want to explain to the class why a known alien and your dragon killed a woman two weeks ago?”

“I’d explain if you let me talk there, Fury, damn. Look, that woman was a magic user, and she put some nasty spell on me—and not the fun kind, lemme tell you—that June felt. June and Loki came to get me, and the witch attacked them. Don’t look at me like that, Agent, she was actually a classified witch, in legal terminology and everything. It was defending me and then defending themselves.”

“I’m definitely buying that story, Stark, seeing as your dragon can fuck with people’s minds, too, and your boy over there killed nearly eighty people in his first thirty minutes on Earth.”

“It is the truth,” Loki interrupts coolly. He’s slumped into the couch, cupping a mug of his foul tea, green eyes glaring from a sunburned, murderous face. “The witch was under little control. Had I not intervened, she would have hurt dozens of others. I would be unsurprised if she has not hurt others in the past. Isn’t that right?”

Fury grinds his teeth.

“Oh?” Tony jumps on the concession. He has no idea how Loki knows that, or if it was just a calculated stab in the dark, but he presses the issue. “She was a baddie, then? Why are you hopping on my dick?” He snaps his fingers. “You just want to get your chance to jump on June! Fury, you sneaky little—”

“Finish that sentence, Stark, and I’ll make sure we match.” That comes with a jerked thumb towards his eyepatch, very threateningly too.

Tony doesn’t have a suit nearby, and June is only just waking up, so he keeps his mouth shut, thanks. He does roll his eyes to save face though.

“Your people are murderers, Stark. You want someone like him hanging around you? You’re gonna take the heat for it.”

June’s mind goes still and quiet, just like it does around Rogers, or people she intensely dislikes. Tony doesn’t try to calm her down. “My ‘people’ are my family, Fury. You come after us, I come after you. It’s that simple. You really want to start a war with me? You and your little spy crew would have to come out of the shadows to really hurt me, Fury, but I can hurt you real bad without lifting a finger.”

“You have no idea what I can do to you, Stark,” Fury intones, and Tony’s never been afraid of Fury, but he’s starting to get why some people are. Before Fury can continue, June raises her head, and _pushes._

Both Tony and Loki wince at the sensation, but they’re mostly shielded from whatever June is projecting. The various agents around the room, however, go still and blank-eyed for a moment before the haze lifts.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Stark,” Fury says, in a noticeably calmer voice than before. “While the death was unfortunate, we’re convinced you all acted in your best self-interest. Take care.”

They turn, leave at Fury’s word. Tony and Loki both blink at their abrupt departure.

Tony says, “Well, that was weird.”

Loki rounds on June, and bites out, “What did you do?”

_I changed their minds. They held hatred in their hearts for us. Shi’s stories and knowledge helped me reach for the power to do so._

“You manipulated their minds,” Loki hisses. “You reached into their very minds and twisted their thoughts, altered their perception?”

June’s ears flick back at his tone, but she doesn’t back down. _Yes._

Loki recoils, eyes burning. He makes as though to say something, but snaps his mouth shut with an absolutely fatal look. He stands, shoves Tony away when he tries to reach for him. “Leave me!” he snarls, and disappears with a crack of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a fun note I was searching for names and Shi, according to BehindtheName.com, can be written with various characters, one of which means "time, era, season" and another that means "stone" so have fun with that little easter egg one naming website let me have


	6. I Know What You Think Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a Revelation. June, also, has a Revelation, but she manages to kind of keep it to herself, because she's not A) a drama queen and B) heavily scarred from a lifetime of betrayal and lies. Tony's just trying to find these fucking eggs, man.

Tony winces and runs his hands through his hair. He’d recognized that crazed look in Loki’s eyes and he is _not_ excited to finding out how Loki’s going to react. The guy’s emotional stability was shaky enough before this.

“Baby girl,” Tony says, because June’s mind is churning and blocking him from speaking to her that way. He can feel her but all of her emotions and thoughts are absent from his awareness. “I appreciate the sentiment of what you did there, but that was _not_ the way to do it. Especially since Loki just got away from a guy that was fucking around with his head.”

June doesn’t respond. Her eyes are still trained on the place Loki disappeared, but eventually she lowers her head as though to go back to sleep. Tony finds it very hard not to feel like he’s standing right between two high-school girls having the tiff of a lifetime.

“Did you learn how to Obi-Wan Kenobi those guys from Shi?” Tony finally asks, when it’s clear June’s not letting him back in. “June, talk to me, I’m in the dark over here.”

 _I have always had this power,_ comes the thought; it’s distant though, reminiscent of a note being shoved from the other side of a closed door. _My control of it has come both from magical tutelage and the ancestor’s stories._

“What kind of control? What did the old guy tell you?”

 _The ancestor,_ comes the pointed and emphasized reply, still distant, _shared these stories with me. They will stay with me._

“What! June, come on, we’re in this together. I thought we didn’t keep secrets?”

_This is not the same._

“This feels like a secret to me.”

 _These are the stories of my kin,_ and wow, June has _never_ taken that tone with him before, biting and cold all in one, _and they will stay with me. They are mine._

Tony throws his hands up, his feelings properly hurt. “Fine. Keep your fucking stories and keep fucking up the one relationship we’ve made since you were born. That’s _perfectly_ fine with me. Don’t know why I even bothered.”

June doesn’t reply. Tony pointedly slams his side of the connection shut as he snaps at JARVIS to send the elevator to the workshop.

*

It takes most of the evening for Loki to descend from the dazzling peak of rage. What enrages him further is the knowledge that he _wants_ to make amends with June, for them to stand on even ground once more. He’s furious that he’s allowed himself to _care_ so deeply in so little time, but that rage doesn’t bully down the need to make peace. That growing desire for peace eventually outshines his rage, but in the time it takes he ends up destroying most of his room and nearly pulling out his own hair. But he does, eventually, calm.

Loki descends around the witching hour to find June. She’s where he left her: laying on the penthouse floor, near the curtain wall, dozing but not sleeping. Her wings are folded at her sides, left lax enough to spread their ends on the floor. As he enters, her dazzling blue eyes open, watching him.

“I have a suspicion this,” he gestures with his marked hand, “is unbreakable. Is that correct?”

June blinks, once.

“I thought as much. I do not find that course of action is necessary in this instance, in any case. However. I want your oath, sworn upon your magic, that you have never and will never tamper with my mind, in any capacity.”

June watches him, steadily. She’s all stillness and silence, but Loki knows very well what she is capable, in body and mind. His theories of her powers and lineage were not only confirmed by the colossal dragon on Vanaheim, they were heightened; she is far more powerful in all the ways he fears than he ever thought possible.

 _I cannot do that,_ June finally replies. Their connection is barely open, but enough that he can hear her.

Loki stills. He thought this was going to be straightforward: June would take the oath, he could sleep easy, and they would both put this behind them. He realizes that he never considered the possibility that June would not be as tempted to make this simple as he.

He also realizes he underestimated June’s knowledge of these mental powers of hers, and her morality on using them.

That perhaps she has already tampered with him. The worst revelation is that he _hadn’t even considered it._

“Why not,” he states, very slowly, because now he feels equally trapped as he does malicious. He despises feeling like a cornered wild animal, especially when he’s standing in the dark before a dragon of old.

June blinks, her two sets of eyelids snicking closed before she explains, _I cannot take that oath because I have, on one occasion, tampered with your mind._

The sentence takes the breath out of Loki’s lungs. He feels his knees buckle but he manages to keep himself upright; it takes a gasping breath and a great deal of control to straighten his spine and grind out, “When? What did you do?”

_When we first met, in your center. I took a handful of your memories—pulled them from the clothesline, clean and quick. I made sure it did not hurt and that you would not know of their absence._

Mortification is the only emotion he can identify when he realizes tears, heavy and hot and betrayed, spring to his eyes. He furiously wipes them away under the guise of scrubbing his face before he rasps, “Why? Why did you do it? To make me…to make me easier to deal with? A useful puppet?”

 _No, Loki._ Her voice is soft but not beguiling. No misdirection, no lies. _I did it because you asked me to._

No. He would have never willingly had anything taken from his mind, not after Thanos. “I don’t believe you.”

_I am telling the truth._

“Then give them back. Give back what you took—what I ‘told’ you to take.”

_I cannot._

“Why!” Loki yells.

_You made it part of our deal. You said to me, ‘When you cleanse my mind, take these memories from me and never give them back.’ And I did so. The deal as you remember was fulfilled months ago. But this pact will always remain, so long as I hold your memories in my mind._

Loki finally succumbs to his trembling legs and sits on the couch, his head spinning, dizziness making the lights from the windows chase each other in fairy-streaks. “I don’t…why would I…”

 _You were in pain,_ June whispers. _I did not know why or how at the time, but I knew I had the power to make it stop. You asked me to heal you, so I did._

“Why?” Loki asks again, and this time it hurts to ask: hurts his throat, his head, his heart. “Why did you do it to me? Why bother at all?”

June is quiet, the darkness moving in eddies and currents around them before she asks, _do you know what being my second-bonded means?_

“I was your second choice,” he bites out.

_No. It means that, should the fates have delivered my egg to you instead of Tony, I would have hatched to you; Tony would have been our second-bonded. It means that you are one of the few beings in the Universe capable of being my rider. It means you reached me second, not that you are secondary._

Loki’s heart breaks and swells with wonder simultaneously. For only a second, he imagines it: holding a bronze-yellow egg, a glittering dragon perched on his shoulder, a relationship he would never have to distrust; he imagines June being _his_. He thrusts it away before he can let the images fester; his voice is a croak when he asks, “why are you telling me this?”

_Because, Loki, the moment I touched your center I knew you were mine. I did not have the words for it then, but I knew that you were meant to be at my side. If I merely wanted to stop the invasion, I would have killed you; if I wanted you to be our ally, I would have only cleansed your mind. But I wanted you to be with us, be a **part** of us. So, I gave you the deal to keep you nearby._

“And I asked you to erase my memories,” Loki adds on, a little spitefully.

 _Only a few,_ June clarifies. _And I only touched what you told me to. I would never meddle in your mind without your permission, bonded. That I swear._

“Swear it on Anthony’s life,” Loki whispers. The world clears before his eyes, sharpening with the simple and deliberate answer to his confusion and fear and cutting betrayal. “Swear that you did nothing except what I asked—swear it on him.”

June stares right into his eyes when she replies, _upon Anthony Stark’s life, I do swear._

Loki feels the tightening of an oath, like belts cinching into his skin. The feeling of the vow, plus Anthony’s continued lifeforce lingering in the back of his mind, finally releases the energy that’s been building up in him since the evening, leaving him trembling and weary.

They sit in silence as Loki regains control. There are so many conflicting emotions coursing through him, through his mind, but he can barely think through him. Now that the sting of that personal betrayal has evolved into a distant kind of understanding, he’s starting to realize that perhaps there are a handful of times in his life he’s wished for the power to erase his own memories. He briefly runs through a handful of the usual candidates: he can remember that he’s a Jotun, that he let go of the Bifrost and fell into the void, that he’s been wed and widowed…

“Can you tell me when the memories you took were from?”

 _Do not torture yourself,_ June pushes back with kindness. _I eased your mind. Let it lie, Loki. You are healed. These memories festered in you._

“Was it about me? Or did I ask you to make me forget…someone else?”

_Loki, please. Do not ask me._

Loki grinds his teeth and presses the meat of his palms into his eyes. “I want to know what I made myself forget. If it was so bad, surely it must be important? Surely I have to know to be who I am?”

_Loki. You are yourself. You made the decision to forget, and you are still the man capable of making that decision now. It does not make you a coward. If you cannot trust me right now, trust in my oath: now that I know what these memories hold, I will tell you it is truly better for you to not remember them._

“I know you mean it, that you believe it,” Loki mutters, “but I can’t believe you. I know my mind…I…”

Does he know his mind? For some stretch of time, he was slave to the void, to Thanos. Even on Asgard, when he made a vie for the throne, he felt beyond himself with rage. Loki hasn’t felt grounded in years, maybe even decades.

Perhaps, whatever memories June has taken, their absence has allowed him to settle.

Loki shakes his head and shoves the thought away. He’s still angry, at himself and at June, but at least now…now he knows, for better or worse. The memory of being lied to for his entire life by Odin surfaces, the stabbing pain of his life falling apart hitting him once more; this situation resembles that night, (June’s eyes swirling in darkness replacing Odin’s face in firelight) but in the way the sun resembles a candleflame.

“I want the oath,” Loki says. “That you will never tamper with my mind without my knowing.”

 _Without your consent,_ June clarifies.

“Yes. I want it sworn on Anthony’s life and your magic.”

_I do swear, Loki, upon the life of my rider and my magic, that I will never tamper with your mind without your consent._

The oath binds and spools itself into existence between them. June’s readiness to swear now also calms Loki’s nerves, but the entire revelation that he has missing pieces in his mind jars him, unsettles him like staring into a dragon’s eye the size of an atmospheric moon had. Loki nods, and manages to stand without trembling.

“You and Anthony intend on searching for the eggs of the Infinity Dragon kin, yes? I will conduct my own search on Alfheim.” He needs the time away, to think. To reestablish himself in his own mind.

 _Thank you._ A pause _. Loki. I do not regret my actions today or when we met. I do regret, however, that they are causing you pain._

That, he believes. Even though he doesn’t want to.

*

JARVIS displays the adamantine’s properties on his holographic screens, finally with some information available; the nugget of the ore was tougher to scan than they realized and it’s taken all night to even place the stuff on Mohs scale (JARVIS predicted it to be higher than ten, and Tony tested that by having a diamond delivered [JARVIS was right, Tony’s new diamond now has a sleek little scratch down its side]) let alone trying to rate its toughness (JARVIS predicted it to be higher than vibranium and adamantium, but Tony’s not quite sure how to test that without having Spangles pay a visit [not happening]).

The adamantine seems to be both tough and hard, though, which is pretty amazing, considering that a diamond is only hard. Tony’s platinum-gold alloy is far more tough than it is hard, so it can sustain more mechanical pressure and not fracture than a diamond ever could (diamonds, when it comes to toughness, are really rather fragile; they can scratch nearly anything, but break under pressure).

Tony even sticks the nugget under his hydraulic press for shits and giggles, and he ends up denting _the piston._  That press exhibits around twenty tons of pressure, and this adamantine doesn’t even creak. Which is pretty fucking awesome.

The thing is, though, Tony’s having trouble getting into the groove of working. Studying an alien mineral should be the highlight of his year, but he finds his mind wandering, fingers aimless. He can’t concentrate.

He feels his closed connection with Loki grow taut with distance and realizes he’s world-walked or whatever to another one of the realms. His mind runs away from him, all at once laser-focused: did Loki decide to just get away for a while, or did June say something to him and now he’s gone for good? Is he hurting, furious, betrayed? Did he abandon them first, so he can avoid the slim-chance future that Tony and June leave him?

He tries to yank himself out of the spiral, but even when he turns his attention to trying to melt down the adamantine under a torch the anxiety of the state of their relationship with Loki knots tight under the arc reactor.

How the fuck did Loki become so important to them—no, to him? When was the moment Tony stopped looking at Loki like a variable to account for, and started to view him as a friend? Or…as more? He’s become the kind of person Tony can confide in absolutely, that knows Tony’s mind and all its pitfalls and serrated edges—and whom Tony knows in return.

It’s mortifying to be known. Tony, as early as his childhood, had quickly descended into a subreal state when it came to being known, since paparazzi and reporters and business partners and random passerby’s hounded him on every stolen inch. Everyone who can use Google knows Tony Stark; they know every factoid about his life—they’ve seen pictures from his delivery room, watched his sex tapes. But that doesn’t mean they know him, not really.

The world can’t read his mind, can’t feel what he does. June can. _Loki_ can. And that is so much more mortifying than an unflattering ass-shot from an amateur porno.

But under that mortification, under that deep embarrassment of his absolute vulnerability—there’s…there’s something more, something sweet and fond and…and…

No, Tony won’t use the word. Can’t. Even though it’s just another word, it’s so much heavier, like Shi’s voice compared to June’s lilting and fluttering mind. It’s the suit to his body. The word holds so weight for him when it never really used to.

Tony doesn’t want to misplace something so heavy he won’t be able to pick it back up again if he needs to.

*

When he surfaces for air, June pads over to him and presses her snout into his abdomen, making him stumble backwards from the force.

“Hey,” Tony says, trying not to sound short—and mostly succeeds, since he’s tired and he loves June too much to stay mad.

 _Hello,_ June replies, creaking open her mental door. Tony reciprocates, and their connection slowly trickles open, clasping together slowly. It’s them getting used to each other after being mutually separated for however long, reacquainting after a fight they’re both tired of having.

 _I am sorry,_ June starts, hesitantly. _I feel…protective, of these stories the ancestor imparted on me. He trusted me with them. I do not mean to push you away._

“Hey, I know,” Tony soothes. “I’m sorry, too, if it counts. They’re yours. I forget sometimes, you know, that you…want to know about your kind, you know? It just feels like…I dunno, you’re like me, that it doesn’t matter where you come from. But it does, for you.”

 _Yes,_ she whispers. _Even if they do not match you, there are seven billion like you. I am alone in the Universe, Tony._

Tony makes the step to reach to her with his voice, letting his emotions follow, even though he’s instinctively muting them so he doesn’t hurt her with his lingering resentment. _You’re not, baby girl. You have Shi now._

_Not for long. He…in one of his stories, of the ancestors his age, he said that once they went to sleep, they do not wake up again. Their mind decomposes while the body lives on. The ancestor will follow soon. Was nearly there already._

Tony rubs his hands under her jaw, letting his fingers catch against the delicate lines of the scales there, comforting. _I’m sorry._

_I’ve known him less than a breath, and I mourn him as though he is my bonded._

_That happens, baby girl. You connected with him. He gave you a link to your birthright, to the stories of your people. Of course you’re mourning him. That’s not wrong._

_It feels…disproportionate._

Tony can feel her grief, low and simmering like a spring lake at the bottom of her mind, all-encompassing, spreading to the far horizons. It has no potential to overtake her, but if she stays still in its ankle-deep waters for too long, she’ll sink, or she might grow so tired and fall asleep there and drown.

 _No, baby girl._ Tony nudges her a memory of Yinsen’s smile beneath dirty round glasses, his tremorless hands as he forges Tony’s new heart. His bloody hand laying atop June’s head. _It’s not._

June joins him in a moment of quiet mourning for the man that saved their lives. She barely remembers him; her memories are faded, blurry, spiked with detail forged under fear; she can only recall his voice curling around foreign words, his face gray with blood loss. She shares his memories, of his smile and stories of his family, his kindness and wisdom gleaming in his eyes.

_Is it this way, always?_

_It always hurts to lose someone._

The image of his dad rises, unbidden, to the front of Tony’s mind. After a moment of remembering him, Tony pushes his memory away.

*

Tony dreams of Loki that night.

It’s not even a sex dream. All he can remember when he wakes up is being somewhere open and windy at night, the night sky spread open to showcase the galaxy and its ardent stardust above them. Tony can’t tell if the sky is familiar or not—if it’s Earth or somewhere beyond.

Loki’s there, back turned to him, neck craned back to watch the stars; he’s up to his thighs in waving dark blue grass. He’s not saying anything, just stands there and takes in the scene.

Loki turns his head, meets his eyes. He smiles, a secretive and sad tilt of his lips; it shifts his face from blank to vulnerable and kind. The wind catches his hair and streaks of the void fall and wave across his skin. His mouth opens and rolls around Tony’s name, but there’s no sound here.

He smiles again, and turns away, looking back up to the place he barely survived.

*

JARVIS says, “Sir, I believe I have found something.”

“Go,” Tony says, a leather needle between his teeth. He’s trying to find the right ratio of sewn to riveted leather for a flyte suit that’s non-metal. He’s not making it for Loki (he’s not! He’s making it for himself, since Loki’s not the only one who knows he looks good in leather, and Tony can appreciate an ass in leather, so fuck you).

“I have traced the accounts you uncovered three days ago, and confirmed they are, indeed, funding the Ten Rings. However, there is no evidence of these accounts being used in any excavations, as per your instructions.”

Shit. Tony had been hoping those slush funds had been his ticket into finding how the Ten Rings had gotten their hands on a dragon egg. He figures it’s the best chance to find the Realm Nest, which Shi had established on each of the nine realms before he went to Vanaheim to hibernate. June, in their brief conversation, hadn’t been able to glean where the nests were, since she can’t recognize any of the places in the nine memories; the memories themselves are fuzzy and curled with age, despite their importance.

All she knew was that it was underground—all of them were. The landscape on all her memories of the nest was foreign, so it stood to reason that Shi established the Midgardian Realm Nest on ancient Earth, which would look as familiar to both of them as fucking Helheim would.

Thus: excavation sites, archeological projects, defunct or foreclosed mines, landfills…anything that could have let some unsuspecting worker stumble into a dragon’s nest and small enough to be contained so the news wouldn’t leak to the world media.

“How far back did you look, JARVIS?”

“Ten years, sir. The accounts you located were established in 2004.”

“Any chance there are other accounts they burned before then that you can track from the initial deposits?”

“It seems not, sir. I cannot find a link.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, releasing the needle from between his teeth before he forgets its there and does something stupid, like swallowing it. He drops his project onto his workstation and rubs his forehead, considering. “Any traction in the SHIELD files?”

“Although the backdoor you established on the hellicarrier is rather helpful, sir, I do not have direct access to SHIELD files that date farther back than fifteen years. It appears data older than this is stored elsewhere in their servers. Such as hard copies.”

“Blech,” Tony replies. The best defense against an AI with a backdoor into your firewalls are hard copies with no virtual backups. “That’s a bust. Really go looking though, JARVIS. Try looking for deleted files or mentions of their filing systems, see if you can narrow down where we can find them meddling.”

“Of course, sir.”

*

A month passes, then two.

Loki doesn’t come home. His connection to them never wanes, but it certainly doesn’t wax.

*

Sometimes, Tony catches June laying on the balcony, staring up at the sky, like she’s watching over the star around which the planet Loki’s sleeping on orbits.

Tony catches himself doing the same thing, sometimes. Only he sees things moving in the corner of his eyes, a flash of black hair or the shine of manicured nails sweeping just outside of his sight. Occasionally, he thinks he hears the kettle whistling in the middle of the night, or a page from an ancient book turning when he’s just about to fall asleep in the workshop. He can’t sleep well, insomnia chasing his heels.

It used to be he was happiest when it was just him and June. Now, it’s like everything’s muted: color, sounds, feelings. Like something’s missing. Like some integral part of them that upped and walked away in the middle of the night, leaving behind only the memory of a conversation June refuses to share.

*

Tony has an epiphany after June asks, _is there nowhere untouched by humans_ _?_ in a miserable tone of voice, when they’ve both failed to track down the nest and are feeling sufficiently frustrated.

“Fuck, of course,” Tony replies, eyes lighting up. “We’ve got sonar! Ground-penetrating radar! JARVIS, where are the least-documented and the least populated places on Earth? The geographical locations with the least amount of data regarding the ground composition, underground formations, that kind of thing?” Before JARVIS can report, Tony excitedly continues, “we’ve been looking at only the least populated places on Earth, but not the places where we know the least about! If the Nest was documented on Google Earth or some other shit that some thesis student could access, it would have gotten out by now. It can’t even be on the map!”

“In order of the lack of in-depth geographical documentation crosschecked with sparse population: the New Hebrides Trench, off the coast of Australia; North Sentinel Island, India; The Namib Desert, Namibia; Vale do Javari, Brazil; and the Star Mountains, Papua New Guinea.”

Tony mulls these over. “Cross-check these locations with any sites funded by the Ten Rings, within a fifty-mile radius.”

“No results, sir.”

“Shit. Cross-check within SHIELD files?”

A pause. “There is no direct reference, sir.”

Tony leans forward, hooked. “Indirect?”

JARVIS displays a one-paragraph deleted file from a little over fifteen years ago. It almost reads like a draft an intern would write up as busy work. “This is the report detailing a follow-up interview with a Miss Evelyn Cardinal, who was questioned in regards to the behavior of her friend, a Doctor Rohan Vohra. Doctor Vohra, upon further inspection,” here, JARVIS displays a handful of websites, published articles, and social media profiles regarding the man, all pieces of JARVIS’ own research, “was once a part of an archaeological expedition in the southern portion of the Namib Desert in 1976.”

“Looks like Evie was being interviewed because her doctor friend was considering accepting a grant to study some site in Namibia again,” Tony says as he skims the paragraph and the timeline of Vohra’s career as an archaeologist. “Seems like SHIELD wanted to know why, but no red flags came up since he didn’t end up going.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Where was he working, in Namibia?”

“I do not know, sir. The information is classified on all fronts. I cannot locate the coordinates from the servers of Universities that funded the expedition, SHIELD, the Namibia government, or assorted archaeologist forums.” JARVIS sounds peeved about it, too.

Tony whistles. “Feels like a coverup to me.”

“It would seem this is an expedition that is not meant to be remembered.”

A grin pulls at his mouth, and he almost rubs his hands together in glee. “I was _just_ thinking I wanted to kick a hornet’s nest.”

*

JARVIS tracks Dr. Vohra to an archaeological dig site far southeast of a town called El Borma in Tunisia. He’s been there for a little under four months, leading an excavation into old trade routes through the Sahara Desert. It’s a no-contact dig, since they’re in the middle of a fucking desert and don’t have wifi.

June is up for the flight as a distraction from their mutual melancholy, so Tony packs up her saddle with rations, water, blankets, medical supplies, and a retractable full Iron Man suit that can attach to the flyte suit. He begs out of a handful of SI meetings with Pepper and they leave that afternoon, eager to hit the desert when it’s not the middle of the day.

*

During the flight, Tony swears that for a moment he can feel the pressure of two hands on his sides and the familiar huff of a breath in his ear.

*

Tony has June land in a sparse little copse of trees on the side of the only road, relatively close to the Borma Airport. It’s enough cover that June can dig herself under the sand and not be bothered, both to hide and keep herself cool.

He transfers his uplink to JARVIS to a handheld, so when he wanders towards the tiny little airport nobody can see his flyte suit from beneath a spare set of clothes. There aren’t a lot of people on this side of the runway, since the town is to the west, but Tony manages to snag a guy’s attention from where he’s working on his plane.

“Hey, yeah, I just got in and I’m looking for someone to take me to the Vohra dig?” Tony says to the guy, who nods and points down the way towards a canvas top Jeep. Tony jogs over, and he finds a kid there—he barely looks twenty, with wide reddened cheeks and a flop of dense black hair. His skin, brown already, seems deeply tanned from his time under a desert sun.

“You headed to the excavation site, there?”

The kid nods, grins. “Yes, I am! You are coming to replace Ms. Estevan?”

“Yup,” Tony says, since nobody should know he’s here. If SHIELD interviewed a friend twenty-years after a coverup about Vohra’s behavior, he doesn’t want to get the guy back on their blacklist by talking to him if he can help it.

“Great!” The kid’s got a warm north African accent. “I will drive you, then. I am Karim.”

“Anthony,” Tony says, shaking his hand. Karim doesn’t look like he recognizes Tony, which is a good thing, but he doesn’t want to push his luck with his favored name. In the back of his mind, June chortles with amusement at the reversal of his feelings.

Karim informs him, “We are lucky—there is a clear road to the site, now. Before, Dr. Vohra rented camel guides to bring all his equipment.”

“Lucky us,” Tony replies, smiling.

Karim hops into the Jeep, and Tony takes the passenger seat. The drive is riddled with spitting waves of sand that Tony wishes he could block with his flyte helmet but resists admirably. It’s a little too windy to talk, so he just holds onto the open frame and wishes his sunglasses were wrap-around. The scenery is rather beautiful, though, with an orange-yellow sandy expanse all the way to the horizon, rising and falling like waves on a windy ocean. It’s a far cry from the tight corners and blocked skyline of New York, and reminds him an awful lot of Afghanistan, but the company and June’s warm presence in his mind keeps him calm.

It’s almost a forty-minute drive out to the site, and they round one of the only solid rock formations in the wide desert and stumble into a small village. There’s about ten canvas tents tied off near the base of the jutting rocky hill, along with people in desert-savvy clothes chatting in the shade beneath canopies or the shadow of the outcrop.

In the sand basin that slides down from the camp, other workers toil, wearing wide hats or long strips of cloth to hide their bent necks from the sun when they venture from the tents erected there. They’re examining the ground with pieces of tech that remind Tony of old-school penetrative radar.

“Here we are!” Karim chirps, excited, as he parks the Jeep next to the only other one in camp, up on the rock slope to stop sand from whirling up underneath and into the engine. “I will bring you to Dr. Vohra. He is not due to return to camp for another half hour, however.”

“That’s fine, kid,” Tony replies, clapping him on the shoulders. Good old-fashioned manly bonding is the fastest way to get what he needs, here, and Karim helps that tremendously by smiling wide. “Thanks.”

Karim leads him to a tent near the back of the grouping and lets him inside. It’s notably cooler within the canvas walls, and Tony sighs in relief from the chill of the rock and the shade. It looks like the kid means to hang out with Tony in here, but before he ducks in, his name rings out across the way and Karim, with an accepting smile, darts away with, “Dr. Vohra will be here shortly!”

Tony shrugs. This tent is occupied mostly by a lightweight table, covered in scattered maps, drawings, and hand-written memos, along with journals and notebooks in the center of the space. A cot with a neatly folded quilt lays parallel with the far wall. The right half has a small table and chair, on which a massive satellite phone sits next to a calendar, each day meticulously marked off. An old, well-loved photo is pinned to the canvas above the desk, showing a young Indian man kissing the stubbled cheek of his handsome dark-haired husband, judging by the visible matching rings.

He flips through a handful of the drawings on the central table, admiring the linework, when he hears approaching voices from the tent, a professional kind of laugh ringing out. The tent flaps open, and a rather tall man ducks in after, saying, “After midday, Harry, you can show me that erosion.”

“Who doesn’t love some good erosion?” Tony agrees, smiling beguilingly. He doesn’t know if Karim managed to snag Vohra on his way in, but by the dumbstruck look he’s met with, he guesses not.

Rohan Vohra is a man in his late fifties, just cresting into his sixties; he’s lean and wiry, with dark brown skin that wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, pulled loose, spotted, and calloused on his workman’s hands. He’s got a thoughtful head of gray-black hair, held away from his face by a red band at the base of his neck. He’s got nice, thoughtful eyes.

“Oh,” Vohra says, softly. Tony tracks those thoughtful eyes as they dart to Tony’s hands, covered by leather gloves, before they come to rest on his face. “I wondered if you would ever seek me out, Dr. Stark.”

Tony laughs, delighted. Vohra’s voice is that comforting kind that always seems to come from a wise old man, and he’s got an accent that falls somewhere between Indian and Italian, which is an odd combination even to Tony’s ears, which have heard the voices of aliens. Vohra fully enters the tent and secures the flap, gesturing to the table; he tugs over two canvas, light chairs and Tony sits down as he says, “Just Tony. No one calls me doctor.”

“No? Then I am Rohan,” Vohra replies, reaching for an electric kettle hidden beneath some of his loose-leaf drawings; he plugs it into a battery outlet and fills it with water. “Personally, I was beyond myself when I received mine. But I doubt that is what you have come all the way out here to discuss.”

“I’m guessing you’ve got an idea?”

“Certainly. I have been waiting for this day for thirty-eight years. I never thought it would have been you,” he says that part with emphasis on you, “but I hoped it would come.”

“That a dragon rider would find you,” Tony clarifies. He doesn’t doubt the stories of June have made their way even out here.

“Yes.” Vohra fiddles with some of the maps, before he lowers his hands and takes a deep breath, meeting Tony’s eyes. “That is what you’re here for, yes? The place where I found the eggs.”

“Yeah,” Tony replies. “Took me forever to track you down, too.”

“That was by design, I imagine,” Vohra agrees. He waits until the kettle whistles and pours them both a mug of instant coffee before he sits back and says, “I should start from the beginning. It is quite the story.”

Tony sits back, crosses his legs. “I’ve got time.”

*

Tony listens to Vohra’s story. The man talks about his life as a young graduate student and being selected for a dig in the Namib desert, of the ugly competitive streak between the two head archeologists; he talks about the fateful day with one of the heads and another student when they found an opening in the bedrock, into a dark and silent cavern; he talks about returning that night with climbing gear, and being the only one to descend into the thousand-foot darkness.

Vohra describes the place, ancient and heady, with carvings of dragons and runes decorating the preserved walls; he describes the bottom of the cavern, where a basin sat beneath the eyes of a massive carved dragon, filled with three dragon eggs.

Vohra’s voice wavers when he describes reaching out and holding a bronze-yellow egg in his hands, swearing he could feel a creature inside moving; he grows weary and mournful when he mentions that one of the eggs, red with streaks of silver, was shattered and dry, devoid of life.

Tony listens as Vohra describes the next day, being interrogated by non-government affiliated agents that descended from black helicopters; he muses that it was the head of the dig that let it slip to the wrong person what they found, that made the agency descend on them; he waves off the concern over the twelve NDAs he signed over thirty years ago, of the possibility of being hunted for sharing his knowledge.

“It is my responsibility to right my mistakes,” Rohan Vohra says. “No danger is too great.”

Tony jerks a thumb towards the photo on the canvas wall, of two men in love. “None at all?”

Vohra’s eyes go empty and desolate. “Andrea had brain cancer, Dr. Stark. Those men could not take him from me faster than his tumor did.”

Tony quiets. Vohra continues his story, about being relieved of his belongings to ensure nothing was taken from the cavern. Tells him of his fears and turmoil when, after believing he did the right thing in handing over the eggs to the agency (SHIELD, Tony suspects), no news broke of dragons being reborn. Of his endless guilt in leaving the eggs in a hole in the ground without care, without thought.

Of his regret and pain in being a crucial part of the system that kept two infant dragons from finding their place in the world.

“Shit,” Tony says. “Thirty years, you’ve been carrying that around?”

Vohra nods, spinning his empty mug on its edge. “It was always my largest regret, not taking one of the eggs with me—smuggling it away for safekeeping. But it’s a foolish thought—this SHIELD tore the camp apart, looking for cameras or journals that documented the place. My belongings were confiscated with prejudice. I left that camp with nothing by my skin. There would have been no way to get the egg to safety, but I still…well.”

“You did what you could,” Tony replies. “You were just a kid.”

“A kid that held the future of dragon kind in his hands, and let it slip away,” Vohra replies, with a sardonic smile. “I digress. Your dragon found you, and my mistakes are only history.”

“You brought her to me.” Vohra shrugs, but Tony presses on. “You did. I never would have found her if SHIELD hadn’t gotten her, hadn’t—lost her. She came to me in Afghanistan, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I read the news.”

Tony laughs. “It all turned out okay. It will be okay, for the other egg, too.”

Vohra dips his head. He stands and says, “Is it only for the story that you have found me?”

“No, I was actually hoping you could point me in the direction of the—cavern, you found. I need to see it.”

Vohra nods, and turns to his cot, beneath of which a small trunk is locked. He takes a key from his pocket and unlocks it, revealing a handful of personal belongings. He retrieves three journals and lays them open before Tony. Inside, there are sketches of the place he described, all in painful detail, of an ancient cavern with a statue over-watching, the landscape of a desert, and—June’s egg, in perfect replication. The little scores of time and age on the side, the crevasses of the scaled edges, the bronze-yellow color—all spot on, like it was a picture from Tony’s memory.

“They were able to take my camera, my journals, my things,” Vohra says, with a pleased tone, “but they could not take my memories, or my dreams.”

Tony flips through the pages, at dozens of angles of the eggs, the statue, the estimated size of the hole and the cavern itself. The journals are full of notes, tight and neat, about the place, Vohra’s half-remembered dreams.

“Do you happen to remember the coordinates of this place, then, Dr. Vohra?”

Dr. Vohra grins, beatific. “I thought you would never ask, Dr. Stark.”

*

Rohan offers to drive Dr. Stark back to the airport, and he agrees. They leave after midday—the hottest time in a desert, of which Rohan knows intimately at this point—but Dr. Stark has him pull over before they reach the airport.

Once the Jeep stops, Dr. Stark hops out, but turns back with a contemplative look. “Hey, Vohra, come with me.”

Rohan raises a brow but follows him off the packed road into the trees. He briefly wonders if the dragon herself is here, but dismisses the thought, since it must be a long flight across the ocean just for his story. Perhaps Stark’s famous Iron Man armor is here, away from prying eyes. Rohan rounds a tree and stops dead.

“Oh, my,” he says, softly. “I…saw pictures, of course, but…you are magnificent,” he directs that to the dragon, who towers above him. She’s even more beautiful in person, glittering in the spackled light from the trees, yellow and bronze and honey-red, ancient blue eyes peering down at him with the unending beacon of intelligence burning there.

Rohan feels that sensation he felt thirty-eight years ago, standing before the statue of a dragon and the eggs it guarded. Weightlessness atop being grounded in a universe that had never felt more alien—a man before a behemoth of power and knowledge. He has imagined this day for decades, worrying and guilty, praying for absolution of his inaction.

The dragon, June, lowers her head to come close to him.

“She says she remembers you,” Dr. Stark says, suddenly. Rohan can’t tear his eyes away to acknowledge him. “Not you, exactly, but that you’re familiar to her. She was able to feel you, when you picked her up.”

“I am sorry I ever put you back down,” Rohan admits. “I always feared…”

The dragon blinks and blows a very gentle ring of smoke around his head, almost playfully.

“‘I am not,’” Dr. Stark says, repeating the dragon’s words that Rohan cannot hear. “‘I would not change anything about my life. Do not think badly of your actions for one more moment. I do not.’”

“Thank you,” Rohan replies, because this is the forgiveness he has yearned for, without even knowing it. “Thank you.”

June presses her head forward, and Rohan tentatively lifts his hand; her snout is warm and sandy against his palm, but slippery in the way a large reptile’s skin is, malleable and protective. And she is breathing, alive, against his skin, and Rohan lets himself be forgiven.

*

They watch Dr. Vohra disappear through the thicket of trees, back towards his work.

June says, _I wish I did remember him, Tony. He was in so much pain over something he could not control._

 _Now he’s not_ , Tony replies. _Lies don’t always have to hurt._

*

They lay down to rest in a West African park, not far from the coordinates Vohra gave them, nestled between trees and away from interested eyes. June falls asleep, mind set kindly adrift. Tony, reclining against her neck, watches the canopies sway in a near-desert wind above them. He thinks about guilt, and inaction, and living an entire life weighed down by the pain of one faulty decision.

Tony reaches for Loki’s mind, wherever it is in the universe. Loki is too far away for Tony to feel more than his presence, his beating heart, but he reaches anyway. He reaches, and reaches, and reaches.

 _Loki,_ he calls. _Loki, come home. Come back to us._

He falls asleep, the (phantom?) sensation of Loki reaching back guiding him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title references a very interesting opinion piece by Tom Kreider of the same name, [found here.](https://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/06/15/i-know-what-you-think-of-me/?mtrref=www.google.com&gwh=E7161B28BB9D9468999F581D92F6C7A8&gwt=pay&assetType=opinion) Highly recommend
> 
> rohan vohra and his life story became way too important for a tony stark fic but I Love Him so leave me and my ocs alone
> 
> also points to whoever makes the closest guess to what memories Loki asked June to take.
> 
> :D see you next time!


	7. At Least It's Not Filled With Spiders, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June and Tony explore the Realm Nest. Who would have thought running around in some tunnels could be so fucking draining? (And don't be a smartass and say 'you should have, dumbass, or did you forget Afghanistan already?' Because the answer is 'no, don't be a smartass.') Loki's probably getting into trouble somewhere over the rainbow, because That's What He Does. 
> 
> Also, emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup y'all i got behind on updating but i made it.
> 
> I'm not super happy with this chapter but I have to stop working on it or else i'll explode. This is the chapter I'll come back to when/if I do any editing tho.
> 
> i'm suspicious of the lack of formatting errors when i transferred this over, so be ready for mistakes or a perfectly formatted chapter, it's one or the other.
> 
> hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

JARVIS says, “You are approaching the coordinates provided by Dr. Vohra, sir.”

Tony tells June, _start circling, baby girl. We’re close._

June obligingly tilts to her left, spiraling slowly as they descend from the lip of the stratosphere and towards the wandering desert below. Tony leans over the saddle side, the flyte suit enhancing his vision to survey the land. It’s all very uniform, with rolling dunes and long stretches of cracked plains—practically an image from Google Earth.

It’s far more beautiful from up here than it is from the Fun-vee, Tony can admit it.

JARVIS hones them into the coordinates, and June lands with a huff and a shake of her wings. Tony says up in the saddle to scan the terrain, and JARVIS makes a topographic map from the scans running from the flyte suit’s cameras. The AI documents the predicted thickness of the bedrock they’re standing on, the mineral composition of the stone, and the layout of the ground-systems beneath the surface.

It takes twenty minutes of wandering—and June flicking her ears to discourage wandering gnats from settling on her antlers—until JARVIS says, “To your immediate left, sir. The penetrative radar indicates there is a ten-by-six meter hole ten feet beneath ground surface.”

June hops to her left, and JARVIS outlines the opening he’s spotted on Tony’s HUD. Tony repulses out of the saddle and hovers over the area and uses two energy beams to cut into the rock (which, upon closer inspection, is noticeably lighter than the rest of the stone—maybe SHIELD replaced it after their own investigation?). He traces the outline fully, and June stamps onto the rock until it breaks and shutters inwards.

Tony and June both lean over the edge, peering inwards. The light from the flyte suit only illuminates twenty feet downwards into the darkness, curling on the edges of the stone before being swallowed up.

 _The child said it was a thousand feet down,_ June reminds him.  _I can squeeze through this opening, and you follow me?_

 _Sounds good, baby girl._ _Let me send a flare down._ Tony detaches one of five flares that are connected to the flyte suit—originally planned for any nighttime travelling, or camping, where they might need an independent light source—and drops it down the hole. It illuminates the cavern neatly for them to see.

_You're ready?_

_Yes. I want to connect with this place_.

Tony lands and watches June tighten her wings against her body, and she scuttles down into the opening, squirming like a salamander under a house. Her tail whips and disappears, and Tony can hear the echo of her buffeting wings. From the darkness below, June’s voice seems to echo: _follow me, Tony._

Tony takes a deep breath, says _we’ve found the nest, and onwards to a brave new world,_ in the general direction of his and Loki’s connection, and hovers over the darkness and falls into it.

And June catches him, appearing out of nowhere; he clicks into the saddle, and June holds her wings still in a controlled fall. The immediate drop in temperature and sound around them is the first thing he notices—without the plain wind, or the swirling sand, this cavern feels like a dark little oasis. The drone spins, blue and bright, some space below them, still falling at a controlled pace.

The cavern opens and widens, the stone walls falling from view in an eerie silence. June seems to know where she is, though, carefully directing her body until she can see the wall in front of her, following the drone. She uses both as a landmark to orient herself as they descend. As they fall, the drone illuminates dozens of little nooks within the stone wall, varying in size from two feet across to ten, round and dug straight into the rock. Tony leans over June’s saddle to get a closer look and realizes they’re all tiny little nests.

Tony doesn’t disengage from June’s saddle—he doesn’t want to be apart from her until they know what’s in the cavern—but he can barely keep his eyes from tracking them, counting the eggs inside, wondering—how many are here? How many eggs will hatch one day, and repopulate Earth and the Nine Realms with tiny little dragons? He’s practically giddy with excitement that he may be feeling from June.

They seem to fall forever, minutes clicking together without passing; the sunlight from the open hole becomes a pinprick by the time June huffs, beats her wings, and lands with a reverberating thud. Tony actually jerks in surprise, somehow shocked they actually reached the bottom; they’re sitting in a small ring of light surrounded by darkness, the drone a hundred or so feet above them. The sunlight above barely even touches them.

“JARVIS,” Tony says, his voice ringing out and echoing two, three, four times up the cavern walls, “up the lights.”

All the intricate lights on the flyte suit flare, including the arc reactor. June’s saddle reactor brightens, too; the drone above them hums and brightens considerably, and all that light swells, crawling on the stone, and—

Tony turns his head, and says, “oh my god.”

On the wall behind them, there’s a massive statue of a dragon, just like Vohra said. What he failed to communicate was how _magnificent_ it was—around three hundred feet tall, carved directly out of the reddish stone, lording over the room. With the light, now bouncing around the stone walls, they can see the statue is painted and that the color, despite being—JARVIS supplies an estimation of 120,000 to 130,000 thousand years old, give or take, _holy shit_ —is perfectly preserved.

This dragon, that both June and Tony now stand before, is green, deep and foresty and reflective. And its eyes, large and unmoving, are a deep and youthful red.

“It’s Shi,” Tony says, surprised to hear how breathy his voice comes out.

 _The ancestor watched over me, all this time,_ June replies, in a similar voice.

Tony tears his eyes from the statue of Shi to the ground. Tony falls down from the saddle and approaches the basin Vohra described—about ten feet across, five deep—and slides down into it. The dirt here is dry, but the way the basin is smooth and darker, Tony imagines this used to be a natural well of an underground spring, incubating the eggs with molten-heated water.

And there’s still an egg in it. Tony touches it, carefully—but it’s red with silvery streaks, smaller and more ovular than June’s, and visibly untouched by life. It looks like it was cracked from the outside, but when Tony peers inside, it looks like the egg was harmed before any dragonling could form inside. A small blessing, at least.

But the other egg, the brown-burgundy one, is gone.

 _SHIELD must have taken that one,_ Tony offers June, when her head dips down to nudge at the remaining egg. She keens, lightly, and licks its once before she pulls away.

Tony finds he’s disappointed it’s not here, but he knows there wasn’t much chance SHIELD would have only taken June’s egg. It’s still deeply saddening to know that it did happen, and that Vohra was right that the other egg was dead.

“Shit,” Tony sighs. He falls back onto his heels and takes a deep breath in. He lets himself think for a second, taking in the space—this cavern feels unspeakably ancient, just like Shi did. It reverberates with some quiet energy that Tony feels specifically in-tune with, like the feeling of June’s magic when it crackles between their bond. That same feeling, turned way down, echoes all throughout here, but quietly, sadly.

No dragon has walked this Nest in thousands of years.

Tony shakes his head and remembers the nested eggs on their way down; he repulses up to the wall, thirty feet up, to the first alcove nest he comes across; inside, an egg the size of a fist sits nestled in a tiny divot that was once surrounded by a nest, long decomposed. Tony says, “JARVIS, scan for signs of life.”

He touches it, turns it over; the egg is intact, but JARVIS says, “No signs of life, sir.”

June says, _the child is right. I feel…nothing, here. These eggs are dead._

“Ah, fuck,” Tony mutters, running his fingers along the egg. He taps it, lightly, and whispers to it, “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner for you.”

He drops back down to the bottom of the cavern, rubbing at his head. All of the eggs in this cavern are dead: Tony believes JARVIS and June in their estimation. They’ve sat in this Nest ever since Shi sealed up the hatch on ancient Earth, all of them stored for a brighter future: the hope of a new day, a new generation of dragonlings to hear the stories of their ancestors and harness the powers of magic. And now they’re dead, and so is the future of dragons as they hoped. Now it’s only June.

 _Tony,_ June says, and he looks up to see her looking at the eastern wall. Tony stands, and sees her looking at a tunnel opened at the base of the wall. It’s wide enough to fit three of June and it seems to stretch forever, out of their sight.

 _There’s more,_ Tony realizes.

 _This is the Realm Nest, Tony,_ June reminds him. _That is something Shi remembered clearly: when he left this place, he left hundreds of eggs here._

*

It turns out the Realm Nest isn’t just one big room, stockpiled with eggs. The Nest is a sprawling, interconnected series of caverns and natural caves that curl and arc underground like an ant colony. They immediately run into trouble, however, since the place was built thousands of years ago, more than half of the tunnels they encounter that splinter from Shi’s cavern are caved-in.

June huffs and growls at being cut off from quick travelling, but JARVIS and Tony start to map the place out. There are three tunnels from Shi’s cavern, all leading in separate directions; the southwest and west tunnels are caved in before they reach other branches, but the northeast tunnel that they find a hundred feet up the wall is more promising.

Being in a tunnel with June carries both the sensation of a crazy adventure and a mid-shelf nightmare; charting a nest filled with eggs is invigorating and thrilling, but getting smacked upside the head with June’s wings and/or tail and constantly almost getting crushed underfoot while she’s maneuvering her body through tight sections is hell. Also, being in unending tunnels that deeply resemble Afghanistan’s caves almost sends him careening into a panic attack once or twice until June’s massive head (so much bigger than a cat’s, she’s not a baby anymore, not helpless, _we’re not there anymore_ ) curls around him and holds him still, an anchor.

So it goes. Tony and June trek and climb over rockpiles, mapping the place with sonar so JARVIS can create a 3D map in the HUD of the flyte suit. It’s slow going, and they’re cut off from progress more often than not, but it’s rewarding work—especially when they find natural caverns with remnants of life, like old pieces of nests or old scales of shimmering and opalescent colors lying near dried-up hot springs. It’s the artifacts of a culture—of a species—that were once so powerful and beautiful and now are nothing more than pieces of a larger story they can’t understand. It’s at once harrowing, exhilarating, and disheartening.

They lay down to sleep in one of the caverns big enough to house June’s curled body, and June falls asleep with the ancient, receding magic of the place humming along her scales. Tony doesn’t think he’ll sleep—not with a stone ceiling above him—but June’s breathing and the purr of power here reminds him of an ancient home he’s finally been welcomed into.

*

Tony dreams of Loki. It’s different than the others, but not by much.

He’s looking at him, for one; standing in front of him, barely out of reach. They’re in that same field of blue-grass, but the galaxy looks different, more streaked with pinks and purples and deep, deep blues. Floating lights of a thousand different colors peek in and out of existence, like fireflies, all around them; some even drift around Loki’s head, land on his hands. His head is tilted and his eyes are so very, very green.

“Loki,” Tony says. “Loki, come home. Come back to us.”

Loki smiles. It warms his entire face, crinkles his eyes with delight. His mouth moves, throat working, but Tony can’t hear him. His face shifts from pale-dark hair to a bleeding in blue skin, jutting horns, white lines of power; he’s still smiling, red eyes gleaming.

“Loki,” Tony says again, reaching out. One of the floating lightning bugs—a light purple one—lands on his outstretched hand, clinging to the mark. “Loki.”

Loki reaches back, blue skin calling.

*

Tony wakes up, but Loki isn’t there. His connection isn’t as taut, or nearly as distant, but Tony can’t help but wonder if that’s just wishful thinking.

*

Time passes like this. They’ve spent two sleep/wake cycles underground by the time June locates a cave-in they can circumvent to enter a whole portion of the Nest they’ve been able to sense through sonar but couldn’t enter.

When they squeeze between the stone and fall into the other side of the tunnel, they immediately stumble into a tunnel that whistles with the reverberating sounds of a large cavern ahead. June perks up instantly and they push forward despite their aching feet.

They’re let out into a massive, open cavern, almost exactly the same as Shi’s. Tony releases one of his mechanical flares, activates it, and tosses it up high; the little drone reaches high and starts to radiate a soft blue light.

The high light source illuminates the cavern enough so they can see its size—too tall to estimate from here, about fifty meters wide—and so they can see the dragon statue in the wall. This one isn’t as well preserved as Shi’s—its top half is collapsed against a perpendicular wall, some of its pieces lying on the ground. The ground is cracked open into crevasses from the shifting of the earth, but the room seems stable. The visible paint on its carved scales is a multitude of shaded purple, like amaranthine and a dark wine, visible streaks of popping amethyst around its cracked head. Its one visible eye is a bumblebee yellow, left staring up into the cavern rather than on its spring.

June says, _Shi’s memories of the other protectors are faded. But this one’s name was K’awiil. He was the first of this generation to die. He was the Protector of Power._

Tony doesn’t reply. He moves forward to the space before the cavern, hoping to find a nest of eggs. He finds another dried-up spring, but it’s not empty. There’s a split open dragon egg, cracked neatly into halves. Tony kneels to feel it and realizes that it was opened from the inside.

Tony’s breath stutters. _June. This one hatched._

June leans forward to see, and whispers, _it could be alive._

 _Look around. Maybe it built its own nest here._ Out loud, he says, “JARVIS, do a scan for any life signs.”

June scours the ground around the areas she would have built a nest here, and Tony flips up his helmet to do a scan with the suit. His heart is beating wildly with the shared fear-joy-exaltation of June maybe not being alone, of dragons surviving even without their intervention. Tony climbs out of the spring to do his own search on the opposite end of the cavern, near the broken statue, and JARVIS reports, “No signs of life, sir.”

Tony’s about to order him to widen his search when his HUD pings, and outlines a figure on the ground. He feels his heart break. Tony retracts the helmet and kneels in front of the skeleton of an infant dragon, its bones off-white and preserved beneath the broken eyes of its protector.

_June._

The skeleton is small, smaller even than June had been when she hatched. Its skull can fit in Tony’s hand, tiny needle-teeth still sharp; its dark little eye sockets staring balefully out at him. June reaches over him and mourns with a low and distant keen.

 _It didn’t suffer,_ Tony says, lowly. _It must have been sick, or too weak. It probably didn’t even hold on for a day. It’s too small._

 _She deserved a chance,_ June grieves. _She needed us and we were not here._

_Baby girl, this dragon died decades ago. Centuries._

_I know. But she needed us._ Tony has the suspicion she’s not talking about them, not June and Tony, but her, dragons, the protectors that died thousands of thousands of years ago. Her feelings of failure exude from her. Tony tries to comfort her, but she doesn’t want it.

Tony places the dragon’s skull back onto the ground, his own grief mingling with June’s. This poor thing, hatching in a silent nest that would become its tomb. Tony can almost hear its squalls, crying out for food, for a nurturing presence to fall asleep against; can hear its whimpers when no one comes, its infant peeps and cries while it crawls out of a dead spring and, eventually, laying down to die at the feet of a stone dragon that was supposed to have been here to protect it.

*

June burns the hatchling’s bones until they’re nothing but ash. Tony dips his fingers into the soot and streaks a small line down the center of June’s face and down the bridge of his nose.

They move on.

*

The Nest is huge. June seems to know her away around, even if she doesn’t think so; they rarely get lost whenever they don’t get sidetracked by a cave-in or a defunct tunnel. They lose JARVIS after they descend past three thousand feet, and Tony immediately feels like he’s going to go insane without his AI, but the flyte suit still has power and its basic capabilities. June also steps up her navigation, and with the map that’s remained in the HUD, they’re able to find their way around.

The Protector caverns seem to be evenly spaced apart, but the networking of tunnels that connects them are spindly and hard to navigate. Tony could see himself getting lost here especially without JARVIS—June is the only reason they can make such quick progress.

They’ve taken to exploring all day, laying down to sleep for only a handful of hours at a time. Tony’s rations are enough to sustain him, and June had feasted on a handful of purchased cows before they left New York, so she’s okay for now. But it’s still exhausting work. They’re both bone-tired when they find another cavern.

The wonder and awe is still strong when Tony lights up the cavern, the drone spiraling like a tiny sun far above them. It’s still so amazing to stand in a place older than anything else they’ve found on Earth, older than the first paintings preserved in a cave in France, older than clay pots dug up in Africa. Older than humans.

As he’s done before, he looks up to the statue. This cavern, too, has a Protector statue; it’s as tall as the others, and this paint is surprisingly not as well preserved. It might have something to do with the small waterfall that’s plunging from the top of the cavern, filling the entire space with the white noise of falling water, and it hits the top of the dragon’s head and down its left side. Most of the statue’s water-logged side is eroded to nothing, but the right is still painted: this one, bright and deep blues, shades of aquamarine and arctic ice and pleasing azure. Her visible eye is a commanding and sharp champagne-blush pink.

 _Evren, Protector of Space,_ June supplies, her voice ringing and soft in his mind. _Her rider died when she was very young—younger than me. Her story is a sad one._

_How did she die?_

June is quiet for a couple beats, her arc reactor eyes taking in the statue, its presence, probably thinking over the stories Shi left her with. Eventually, she replies, _she chose to make a sacrifice, for the Children._

Tony looks over Evren’s statue, wondering. June was never going to share these stories with him (and that realization makes him suddenly jealous of that Songül guy who managed to write down all those stories in Loki’s book). But he pushes away the jealousy and the resentment, locking it away, and replies, _at least her choice is remembered._

_Yes._

Tony sighs, shakes himself free of the sadness. Being confronted with the dragon’s Vanishing and the end of their culture as they knew it makes him feel like he’s part of a tradition that’s been lost and will never be found. It’s sad, to look over their monuments and their dead eggs and know that even if they find the Infinity Dragons, hatch them, nothing will be the same.

He moves forward to the basin to inspect it for eggs and stops cold when he sees a figure sitting there, hidden from their view by the fallen debris of the cavern; they’re sitting on the edge of the filled-in basin, churning with the waterfall’s leftovers. Tony’s heart thuds in his throat once, twice—

“Loki?”

The figure turns, and Loki smiles, his hair loose and falling around his face, framing his smile and his crinkling eyes. He’s wearing a deep blue tunic and dark pants, bare feet dipping into the water—and his hands are curled around an egg, silvery and pearlescent.

“Anthony,” he says.

 Tony stares at him, tries to take him in—and then he strides forward, hops over the boulders and slippery rocks, and engulfs Loki in his arms, clinging to his clothes, breathing in the scent of his hair. Oh _fuck_ , Tony knew he had missed Loki, knew that his absence made his heart ache, but now that he’s back, solid and alive and smiling in his arms, Tony realizes how much it had fucking _hurt_ to be parted. More than the mental connection, more than his importance to June—Tony just missed _Loki._ And now he’s back.

“Loki,” Tony says, again, a broken record. “Holy shit, Loki. Thank God you’re back.”

The man against his chest pauses, the egg cradled between their bodies. And then one of his arms comes up, and his nails dig into the plates of the flyte suit, head tilting down to press the cold tip of his nose against Tony’s neck.

“I am back,” Loki agrees, softly. “I’m home.”

*

Tony watches Loki and June reunite and their shared space—as they fall into it—is taut with some unresolved conversation he’s not privy to. But being together is like coming home, like sitting in front of a fireplace in a well-loved blanket. Tony revels in it, embracing both of the most important beings in his life to his mind, not even bothering to hide his happiness and joy in their reunion.

 _How did you find us?_ Tony asks.

Loki offers a memory—returning to Earth, and feeling Tony’s dreams, his distance from Stark Tower; Loki teleporting to the desert, down into the cavern, and then all throughout its space until he found a Protector’s cavern to wait for June and Tony to find him. _This place is a maze,_ he says. _I knew you would find me, eventually._

 _We will always find you, should you wish to be found,_ June says, softly. Tony can feel how Loki and June’s minds are skirting each other, approaching and retreating. It’s not a lack of trust, but more like getting used to each other; it’s feeling out the other after a fight or a sour conversation (Tony isn’t sure which yet).

 _And I am glad for that,_ Loki responds. In their physical bodies, Loki turns the egg over in his hands.

 _Is that one of them? The Infinity Eggs?_ Tony asks.

 _No,_ June replies for him. _It is not._

 _I was not as lucky as you, in finding a Nest._ Loki says, after June does not elaborate. _This egg was here, in the water._

June lowers her head, touches the egg to her snout. She breathes over it, and says, _she is alive. Sleeping. She is very old for not having been born._ Excitement curls through the three of them, longing and happiness at _finally_ finding an egg that isn’t long dead.

June doesn’t remove her head, and it ends up that now June’s head is resting on Loki’s lap. Loki seems to hesitate before he lets one of his hands—his marked hand—fall on her snout, run up the bridge of her face between her eyes.

Their shared space eases, ever so slightly. That’s when Tony knows they’re going to be okay.

*

They take a rest by Evren’s statue, drinking from the freshwater spring and sharing rations. Tony keeps his connection to Loki open, just happy to feel him, to look over and see him there, breathing, moving, drinking water from his cupped hands.

Tony nudges him with his foot. June, asleep behind them, breathes in deep enough that he can reach before they both sink back against her ribs.

Loki looks at him, an inquisitive smile tilting up his mouth.

“You okay?”

Loki blinks. “Why would I not be?”

“Uh, you were gone for like three months, and the last time I saw you you were pissed at June. Also, you’ve been on another realm for three months and I worry, okay?”

Loki smiles, but it looks like he doesn’t realize he is. “Yes, Anthony, I am well,” he says, after a moment. “I needed…the time away, I think. To work. Alone. But I know you missed me far too much to stay away much longer.” That’s said with a mischievous lilt, a gleam in his eyes.

Tony doesn’t laugh, like he knows Loki is fishing for. He doesn’t find this funny, not particularly—what he felt when Loki was gone isn’t so easy to brush off. “Yeah. I didn’t even realize how bad I wanted you back until you were gone.”

Tony watches Loki’s face shift from pleased to surprised and then to distant longing. Tony doesn’t think he’ll reply, so he settles in against June’s underbelly, ready to sleep, and that’s when Loki says, “Nor I you, Anthony.”

He turns his head, looks at Loki for a long time. Just looks. And then he nods and, for once, falls asleep with no problem at all.

*

Loki doesn’t sleep.

He watches Anthony fall under, feels his mind grow lax, and settles in against June’s body. The dragon, only between them, had left him with a small and quiet, _we missed you, Loki. Thank you for coming back for him._

Loki hadn’t replied. But now, with June’s mind loose with sleep, he whispers to her, _I came back for the both of you._

And it’s true. He’d spent his time on Alfheim and Svartálfheim, searching for the Nests, but even during his week-long tours of ancient libraries and days spent meditating on magical lay lines, he’d found his mind wandering to them both, to Anthony’s quick smiles and June’s warm eyes.

He’d tried to find himself, out there—tried to find who he was beyond the two of them, who he was without those damned memories June took. But the longer he spent away, the lesser he felt. Less powerful, less settled, less _at home._

His memories are only memories. His home is with these two infuriating beings with forgiving arms and deeply caring souls.

*

It takes the three of them longer to find the next Protector Cavern. They’re much deeper underground now—they’re nearly four thousand feet down—and the tunnels are more unstable than ever. June often finds herself wary to squeeze through a tunnel in fear of collapsing it by bumping the walls or the ceiling with her body.

More than once, Loki steps forward and erects a magical shield around them, glimmering and familiar, to protect them from falling rocks. Once, he stops one of her feared cave-ins from crushing them all.

Tony doesn’t even bother to hide his elation. He claps Loki on the back, pulling their foreheads together, laughing as he says, “fuck, guys. Hope there’s another way out.”

Loki laughs in response, pats Tony’s cheek a touch condescendingly. “Of course there is, Anthony,” he replies.

June huffs and nudges them both with her snout, briefly allowing her snake tongue to flick between them before she says, _let us move forward._

They go on, trekking and climbing and wandering, together.

*

They find two more Protector Caverns. The fourth: Ogenhero, the Protector of Reality, a statue of deep reds, burgundy and wine and bright rubies, with eyes like emeralds that follow them as they walk about their cavern; they lord over a basin that is filled with tiny eggs the size of softballs, none of which live. The other eggshells in nooks around the cavern are also dried and dead.

The fifth: Dušan, the Protector of Soul, a dragon that wavers and moans when viewed from the corner of the eye, painted in oranges of peach and citrus and amber with eyes of black opals that reflect every color. There, they find forty dead eggs and the skeletons of a dragon, maybe a month old, and that of their first humanoid. They are curled together beneath Dušan’s feet.

A rider and her dragon trapped here, together until the end. Loki suggests the skeleton belonged to an ancient Jotun, judging by the nubs of horns on the skull while he clutches the pearl egg to his chest. June burns their bodies with her fire and the three of them carry their ashes on streaks on their skin.

And they move on.

*

Tony’s lost all track of time. He feels like they’ve been down here for months, the tunnels becoming his entire world, horizons shrinking to the darkness of the earth. Without JARVIS to keep him updated, he’s not sure how long they’ve been here, how long they’re going to stay. Time has shifted only to sleeping shifts and waking shifts, nothing about day and night reaching him.

June, too, seems disoriented, but she’s far calmer about it than he is. Loki, who has only been with them for three sleep/wakes, is far more of an anchor; he supplies them with estimations of the time passed from his internal clock, since apparently his is much less fucked up than Tony’s (in general, really, not just because Tony’s been in here).

When they finally breach the final Protector Cavern, Tony feels like they’ve been down here forever, and his whole life has been leading up to now, like nothing exists beyond this.

Tony releases a drone, and June says, _this is the Protector of the Mind._

 _What’s their name?_ Loki asks. They have been holding the names of the Protectors in their minds, remembering them, clinging tightly to the stories June offers.

_I do not know. I asked not to be told._

_Why?_

June is silent. She, with Tony and Loki at her side, approaches the basin beneath the statue. This one is like all the others, but it looks like a spitting image of June: larger, bigger, but twinkling with yellow and amber and honey-reds, eyes bright and blue and fractured (not quite arc-reactor blue; deeper, older, different). Tony looks at this statue and thinks, _this could be June, but it’s not my baby girl._

They come upon the basin, and there sits an orange egg, scaled and ovular and nestled in fallen dust and held in the skeleton of a dragon June’s size, curled in the dry spring like a cat in a sink.

 _Because, my bonded,_ June says, _these are not my kin. This Protector above us is not my sire—he is me. The Infinity Dragons are not born; they are Reborn. I am he; they are me; we are Infinite. I did not want to know who I **was** before I know who I **am**._

Loki carefully descends into the basin, stepping through the ribs of the dead dragon. He places his hand on its snout, and carefully pulls the orange egg free. As he climbs back, Tony asks, _why didn’t you tell us?_

 _It is our most precious secret,_ June whispers. _We are not born to other Infinity Dragons—we are born to the dragon closest to the stone we are meant to protect. Those who know of our Rebirth may control us—use the stones we protect to lure our birth, find our eggs, tangle us in the politics before we are strong. Shi’s…fear of discovery was mine, for a time._

 _Now it is our fear, June,_ Loki replies, inserting himself clearly into the conversation. He stands before them cradling the orange egg, held between his palms. _It is ours to bear. It need not be yours alone._

 _Yes,_ June replies. _I am not alone._

She lowers her head to the egg and presses her snout to it. She says, _welcome, sister,_ and all their minds fill with the steady burn of magic and the sleeping dragonling’s lifeforce burning bright, right before their hearts, achingly familiar.

 _You were once Dušan,_ June whispers to the living egg. _Now you are Reborn. I am very ready to meet you again._

*

“There is nothing else for us here,” Loki says, as they survey the two living eggs they’ve found—one an infinity dragon, another a high dragon.

 _Yes,_ June says. _The rest of the eggs have died. Let us take them home._

“Hey, at least we found two,” Tony tries to comfort them, himself. “There may not be as many as we hoped, but we found an Infinity Dragon—the one of soul, too! That one seems important. We’re doing okay!”

Loki smiles. “Yes, we are.” He holds out his hands, and in a distortion of reality, they disappear from the nest and reappear at home.

*

JARVIS says, “Welcome back, Sir, June, Loki.”

Tony’s eyes burn in the bright light—holy shit, is it the middle of the day here? He covers his eyes with his hand and calls, “J, darken the windows—the light! Too fucking bright!”

Tony doesn’t remove his hand until he’s certain JARVIS followed through, and even then he winces as he squints and his eyes adjust. Around him, both Loki and June are doing the same thing. They’ve spent too long underground without the smallest hint of daylight and now even the blinking light from the TV feels blinding.

“Everyone okay?”

 _I will be,_ June replies, her inner eyelids shut while she works open her outer, adjusting like he did. Loki is glaring from between his fingers, the pearl egg clutched to his chest; the Soul egg is nestled safely in June’s saddlebags. “How long were we down there?”

“Ten days and six hours, sir.”

“That’s it?” Tony sputters. He doesn’t even feel like he can remember going down into the nest, let alone anything before it. It felt like an eternity passed down there. “Fuck…”

He shakes his head and mutters, “I vote we reconvene in, like, two hours. I’m gonna go throw up real quick, since we were like four thousand feet underground and now we’re in a skyscraper penthouse, and then I might pass out for a power nap or something. Sound good?”

“That is agreeable,” Loki says, looking green around the gills himself.

“Cool,” Tony mutters. He distantly wobbles on his feet. “I might reverse the order, though. Pass out before vomit. Let’s go team.”

*

After a cumulative seven bottles of Gatorade, thirteen granola bars, five pig carcasses, three trips to the bathroom, and a partridge in a fruit tree, they reconvene with noticeably more vigor and less nausea.

Loki carefully lays the two eggs they found on the floor, nestled amongst blankets they’d curled into nests. They form a triangle around the eggs, just looking at them as if they expect them to hatch.

“Okay,” Tony says. “We’ve found an Infinity Egg, which is awesome. One down—well, two down, technically—and that’s pretty great work for five months of work.”

“We can assume Midgard holds no more of the Eggs,” Loki says, suddenly. “There were two, here, which is unlikely in itself. The other realms must old the others—or even planets beyond the realms.”

“If we broaden to the whole universe, we’re never gonna find them,” Tony argues. “We have to narrow our search down to have a chance.”

“For now—but our search may lead us beyond the Realms. We must prepare for this eventuality.”

“Eventually,” Tony emphasizes. “We’ve only got so much time before Thanos collects more of the stones. We have to hit him before he has too many—like, three should be our benchmark.”

“With three Infinity Stones, he will be the most powerful being in all of the Universe,” Loki informs him, an eyebrow cocked.

“That’s why it should be our hard limit?” Tony replies, a little hesitantly, but mostly sure.

“This may be a time to inform you, sirs, that the scepter containing the Mind Stone went missing from SHIELD’s facility in near Prague three days ago.”

The room goes quiet. Loki’s face drains of color, and June is eerily still in mind and body.

Tony clears his throat, and asks, “do we know how it went missing? If someone stole it?”

“No, sir. I do not have full access to SHIELD’s servers—I learned of the scepter’s absence through a surveilled meeting between Director Fury and Agent Coulson.”

“Someone fucking stole it,” Tony mutters. “Fuck.” He turns to June, suddenly. “That was your stone, wasn’t it?”

 _Yes,_ June replies, softly, with no inflection. _It was my duty—_

 _You’re four years old, June, cut yourself some slack,_ Tony interrupts, running across her thoughts with his.

 _My age is no excuse,_ June replies. _It is my Born duty. I should have retrieved it the moment we returned from the ancestor, but I did not think—I thought it safe, here…my fault. My fault—_

 _It is done with,_ Loki cuts in, sharply. June’s spiral jerks out of motion. _There is nothing to change it. It is gone._

“JARVIS, any surveillance on the scepter when it was stolen?”

“One moment, sir,” JARVIS says, and probably does some sweet remote hacking through his link with the hellicarrier, and after a minute, says, “this is a classified video of the scepter’s theft, sir.”

“Nice.” On the television, JARVIS plays the video: a corner frame of a vault room, in the middle of which sits the scepter’s box; it’s guarded by assorted security measures, even fucking _lasers,_ what is this, _Mission: Impossible_? The tape plays, and as they watch, between one second and the next the case is slightly ajar.

Tony blinks, and Loki says, “that was it?”

“Yes, sirs,” JARVIS replies.

“Rewind—there,” Tony orders. “Scrub frame-by-frame. Okay…” As they slideshow through the frames, they see a distant gray blur in the middle of frame, the case agape, and the blur is gone after the next. Three frames—three milliseconds. That’s all it took.

“That is not magic,” Loki declares. “None of which I know.”

“No,” Tony agrees, slowly. “I’m gonna make some phone calls, though. You know there are mutants on Earth? People with crazy superpowers that didn’t come from a bottle or billions of dollars, just some natural hijinks in their DNA. Wanna bet one of them is _really_ fucking fast?”

Loki watches the three-frame byplay again before he shakes his head and declares, “we must assume the stone is in Thanos’ hands. Why else would it be stolen? None but us and this organization know of its powers to alter minds.”

“Maybe SHIELD has a leak,” Tony brainstorms. He holds up his hands defensively when Loki levels a glare at him. “What? It seems more likely than Thanos having another agent on Earth. Have you heard any rumors of his people being this far out?”

“No, but that does not mean it is not possible. What I mean is, however, that for our own plans, we should assume Thanos _does_ have the stone, for we are at a far greater disadvantage should we assume the opposite and be incorrect.”

“Good point,” Tony mutters. He scratches his head and sighs. “Fuck. Fine. One out of three. We’ve still got time, though, to find the other eggs. And Asgard still has the Tesseract—”

“I have heard the planet Xandar, beyond the Nine Realms, holds the Power Stone,” Loki interrupts. “That does not mean it still does, but that is the common belief among knowing circles.”

“Those aren’t bad odds,” Tony bucks up.

 _The Time Stone is on Earth,_ June informs them. She shows them a memory, hazy and distant and distinctly not hers, of an odd, short humanoid with long facial hair wearing a gleaming green and gold amulet around his neck. The memory is infused with foreign love and deep fondness. _Shi was the Protector of Midgard, and he left the stone in the hands of his rider and those his rider trusted. Shi believes the stone still here—said he could feel its pulse in my memories of Earth._

“Even better!” Tony crows. He claps his hands. “Okay, I vote that we try to find whoever stole the Mind Stone and figure out who has the Time Stone. Then, we’ll know where three of them are for sure, which gives us some wriggle room in figuring out a timetable for attacking Thanos.”

“I may have some headway on another egg,” Loki says after he’s agreed to Tony’s plan. “While I did not find the Realm Nest on either Alfheim nor Svartálfheim, there are rumors of an ancient sacred artifact on the latter that corresponds to a description of a dragon egg. I require aid to retrieve it, however.”

“Sure thing, Comet,” Tony grins. “Give me a couple days to do a little research with Charlie to see if I can pin down the Mind Stone. That sound good?”

“Yes. I require time to reestablish my magical reserves anyhow.”

*

Loki surveys his reflection in the penthouse windows, now long dark from the approaching night. His face is streaked with the ashes of two dragons and a Jotun rider, the form of honoring their passing. He touches the ashes, wondering idly if one day another pair would stumble upon his skeleton and wear his ashes like warpaint.

June’s reflection appears in the window above him, eyes first, and then her scales. Loki meets her gaze before dropping his fingers from his face.

 _It was our way,_ June says. _When a rider died—their dragon burned their body and wore their ashes._

“Will you do that for me?” Loki asks her.

 _Yes,_ she replies, unblinking. _Tony too._

“You and I will be together far longer than you and Anthony,” Loki muses. “I have yet to live another three, four thousand years. Anthony has but a half a century, if he is lucky.”

_I know._

“This does not bother you?”

 _Tony’s death will always grieve me,_ she replies. _As will yours. But I will not regret you both spending the rest of your lives with me. The time I have with you—I will cherish it._

Loki shifts his focus from June’s reflection to the city, his eyes catching on the roving and blinking lights. “Why?”

 _Because I love you, Loki._ A declaration as simple as breathing, as constant as gravity. As sincere as her young and ancient heart.

Loki takes a deep breath in, heavy and shaky; he lets it out, pacing it to the desired beat of his heart. “Do you?”

_Yes._

Loki almost asks: ‘Does Anthony?’ but he snaps the question back and locks it away before June can hear it (hopefully). He takes another shuddering breath and tries to still his churning mind.

 _Fear not, bonded,_ June says, gently. _I was born to love you—to carry your memory with me until my fire turns to ash. Do not feel burdened by response._

And she means it. He could say nothing in return and she would not feel pain. But for all of Loki’s mischief and troublemaking, he is not cruel, and he knows that locking her out without offering her something in equal return is just that.

“I care…deeply, for you,” he admits, the act of speaking making it feel far more real—and far harder to say. “For you both. But I am…well. I am me.”

 _Yes, you are,_ June agrees. She lowers her head until her jaw lays against his shoulder, barely half of it able to fit across his collarbone. He feels one of Anthony’s memories rising from their shared space, of when June was first hatched and would perch on his shoulder, a bird of prey, watching and hunting from on high. Now she is far too large to even think of laying a foot on either of their shoulders, but the pressure of her skull is a symbolic gesture of that same simple love and togetherness.

After a moment of staring over New York, June says, much softer than before, _are you…still angry with me?_

Loki sighs, and feels the vestiges of the anger he had, indeed, been holding fade from his chest. He reaches up and places his arm beneath the curve of her jaw, patting the scales just below her lip. “No, June,” he says. “I am not angry with you. You only did what I asked.”

 _Yes, I did._ She pauses, uncertain. _But it was cruel to touch you were you had been hurt and not tell you. You are my bonded—I wanted to make the pain stop, but I made it worse._

“You made me whole,” Loki murmurs. He feels warm—and safe. He rubs her head and repeats, “you made me whole. You gave me a home. How could I ever fault you for that?”

 _I do not regret it,_ she whispers, _but I am sorry._

Loki lets himself smile and allows those tiny remaining tendrils of tension ease out of his body. “And that’s why I came home, kusymre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let loki be happy 2k18
> 
> i don't know what i'm doing anymore. are secrets even secrets anymore? do reveals have any meaning? idk. im just along for the ride same as y'all. see you this weekend probably xx


	8. Fatherhood Got Run Over By A Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Primary ColorsTM takes a breather with very few breakdowns (of all flavors, too; we're talking emotional _and_ communication included). JARVIS looks for the Mind Stone. Loki loses someone. June makes a ..."friend" is a strong word, so let's say "acquaintance." And it's Tony's turn for a Revelation, and man, it's a doozy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had four glasses of spiked lemonade lets go

“Heya, Charlie,” Tony greets as the face of Charles Xavier appears on his workshop screen. He looks good—still bald, though.

“Mr. Stark,” Xavier replies, smiling benignly. The two of them have a decent professional relationship, in that they mutually agree to not step on each other’s toes, and both agree that neither of them talks about how Tony’s been funding lobbying for the Mutant Rights Act on the downlow since it came to the political field. “How have you been? I understand you have been absent from New York for some time.”

“Read my mind all the way from Salem?”

“I saw this morning’s news,” Xavier replies, mouth curled into a kind little smile.

Tony laughs. “Of course it’s on the news. Well, I’m back—but that’s not why I called you up, Charlie.”

“Of course not.”

Tony doesn’t kid himself. Anyone else, he’d dance the dance, do a couple of maneuvers—sweet talk his way to the information he wants. But Charles Xavier is the world’s strongest telepath and there’s no reason to shield his intentions from someone who could glean it from his thoughts as easily as June.

“Do you know about any mutant—in your school or somewhere else—that can move really quick?”

“How quickly?”

“About twenty feet in three milliseconds.”

Xavier hums, looking thoughtful. “There are no students here with that particular skill. However, it very well may be there is an individual beyond this school that has this capability.”

“Who would steal something from SHIELD?”

“Oh? Perhaps not, then…”

Tony leans in. “This is where you tell me the good, juicy gossip of the mutant world, yeah?”

He laughs. “Perhaps. It _is_ little more than rumor. However, I have heard stories of an Eastern European organization that has taken to…interfering with the DNA of war orphans. All very vague, of course. I have come across no evidence of such tampering. If such an organization did exist, I would imagine it would be against the morals of your SHIELD.”

“Not mine,” Tony is quick to denounce. He turns over the possibilities in his head, but there isn’t enough to go on. All they’re working with is rumors and ghost stories. It’s probable that whoever stole the Scepter was a mutant—maybe even one of these artificial ones—but it’s impossible to know without more information.

“Thanks for the chat, Charlie,” he says, “always love talking to you. If you hear anything about someone like that, send it my way, yeah?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Xavier replies, ever so formal and amused. “Send my regards to June.”

Tony nods and clicks off, leans back in his chair. “Shit,” he mutters. He’d really been hoping Xavier would know more about the thief, but it’s not a dead end. SHIELD, for all its shadowy morality, doesn’t have that many enemies—it was built with protection and prevention in mind, not outright offense; there just aren’t that many people out there who know what SHIELD is.

Out of those who know, it should be easy to track down someone who can run really fucking fast who was born in Eastern Europe. It’ll just take more legwork to figure out that he had hoped.

“Okay, J,” Tony says, cracking his knuckles. “We’re going on a needle hunt.”

“I ever did so miss combing through the most recent haystack, sir,” JARVIS readily agrees.

*

Loki asks, “have you any luck in locating the Mind Stone?”

“Not yet,” Tony says through a mouthful of popcorn. June, for whatever reason, _loves_ cooking shows, so the three of them have sat down for a _Chopped_ marathon (she says she finds the pressure and the contestants’ reactions to it interesting, and also watching some of the chefs fail in spectacular ways never fails to amuse her). Loki had magnanimously agreed to join them and has been watching the various episodes out of the corner of his eye with a sort of rapt, sucked-in attention.

Tony continues once he’s swallowed, “Xavier wasn’t as helpful as I hoped he’d be. I’m doing the research by hand, by which I mean JARVIS is doing it, but I made him so it counts as me doing it. So we’ll see where I get on that front.”

“And you believe you will be successful?”

“In finding the thief? Sure. The Mind Stone? Who knows.”

Loki lets the conversation drop, and winces when June’s favorite contestant is eliminated; her displeasure is physically tangible. June is distinctly not listening to their conversation, which is why she’s not careening down an unhealthy mental spiral about failure right now.

Tony asks him, “any progress with the eggs?”

“No,” Loki replies. Tony knows Loki had, in some distant and quiet part of his mind, hoped one of the eggs would hatch for him—but both, pearl and orange, have remained quiet and whole since their return from the Nest four days ago. “I am wary of using too much magic on them.”

“Sure,” Tony agrees. “We can do some scans in the workshop later, if you want. See if that’ll help.”

“That would be…agreeable, thank you,” Loki replies, and Tony’s surprised by the hesitation. He tries not to dissect it too much and just tries to be grateful Loki’s back, but the worm of worry has already wheedled into his mind.

*

“Anthony—” Loki calls as he sweeps into the workshop where the man has been working since the previous afternoon. He’s ready to prepare for the journey to Svartálfheim to retrieve the second dragon egg there, but JARVIS had bene unable to hail Anthony to alert him to the plan.

Loki is momentarily cut off in surprise at being faced with a massive form of armor in the middle of the workshop, a hollow shell of a dragon’s body—June’s, specifically. It’s different than the armor he met her in, specifically in its color and form; but also in that June is currently not in it.

“Loki!” Anthony returns, joyous; he appears from behind the skeleton with a set of protective eyewear pushed into his hair. “Just the guy I wanted to see—come on, come on! Over here, I need you to look at something for me—”

Anthony keeps prattling on, and he practically drags Loki into the armor from beneath. The suit is large enough to stand fully upright in and even Loki would require the ladder Anthony has set up under the spinal piece to reach the intricate wiring there.

“I did not know you were redesigning June’s armor,” Loki interrupts him; Anthony has moved from Loki’s arrival to zero-gravity physics in the time Loki tuned him out.

Anthony redirects his train of thought without blinking. He looks manic, but not overly so—excited, more so than out of control. There are two high spots of color on his cheeks, beneath his gleaming eyes.

“Can always make it better,” he says. “I’ve worked enough on my own suit—I’m looking into nanites, too, but they’re pretty theoretical now—hey, actually, could you help me with those? I’m looking for materials to build some—anyways, yeah, June needs an upgrade. I’m trying to figure out how to protect her wings, too, but anything I try to put on there is too heavy or interferes with her control—which fucking sucks, you know, you’ve seen the scars, and I can’t figure out how to make it work. Anyways, the flight mechanics are fine on her shoulders, but she doesn’t have enough flexibility. The problem is that whenever I upgrade maneuverability I have to take away from protection, and that ain’t gonna cut it, so—”

“You require something from me to create a compromise of this flexibility and its strength?”

“Yeah! You have an idea? I have a couple, obviously, but whatever you did to the Mark XXI really packed a fucking punch and I’ve been trying to incorporate it into the Iron Dragon armor, but—”

“Iron Dragon?” Loki repeats, amused.

“Uh, yeah, what else am I gonna call it? I’m Iron Man—self-explanatory, you get it—and yours is Iron Mage. I thought about making it Iron Reindeer, but JARVIS said you wouldn’t find it funny.”

Loki blinks, stupefied. “You made me a suit?”

“Not a whole one,” Anthony says, unperturbed. “Didn’t think you would want the whole shebang—because of spellcrafting or whatever—so I just made the gauntlets, boots, and the breastplate. Kinda piecemeal, but I can make a whole suit if you want—”

“You made me a suit,” Loki repeats, this time in awe. This mortal, with a flight-fancy mind, humming and bright that is always looking towards the future, beyond its horizon—made _him_ a suit of armor, one of his most precious creations, the things he guards with unhealthy vigor. He crafted it with his own hands with Loki in mind, and Loki alone.

The repetition finally catches Anthony off guard. He visibly reigns himself in, and hesitantly says, “Uh…yeah? Was that not good? I thought, well—protection, it’s kind of what I do, you know, the suits, and you’re…well I know you’re a god, but you’re mine, and I protect my own? So…I can toss it if you don’t want it—”

“No,” Loki says, almost too quickly. “No, you don’t—is it here?”

Anthony grins, back on track. “Hell yeah it is. JARVIS, send up Iron Mage, yeah?” And then to Loki: “I used that alloy you said was good for retaining enchantments on the plating. It’s not so good for strength, but that should be enough to stick one of your spells on it, right? Also if you want we can do some designing together so you can do your magic while it’s being built and make the spells stronger. This is just a prototype, anyways, it’ll have to be revamped after I get your notes—”

The east wall opens and there stands a mannequin with the aforementioned pieces of armor: greaves, gauntlets, and a breastplate, all shiny and painted in green and a specific familiar shade of yellow-gold. Loki approaches them and sees what Anthony is describing: the painted outer shell of the pieces is a combination of ground tektites and iron; the coating is enough to soak in an enchantment far easier than the alloys Anthony generally uses in his armors.

The _thought_ that went into this is staggering: the information retained over a year and a half of conversations, late-night discussions of magic and enchantments remembered and employed in a project Loki did not commission. It’s almost overwhelming, to know the breadth of feeling that lies so simply in Anthony’s heart that he would do this for Loki without even thinking about its importance.

He just did it, because he could. Because he _wanted_ to.

“Thank you,” Loki says, running his fingers over the gauntlet; he can feel how the energy creeping from the wireless connection of the arc reactor pools and hums in the palm, eager and ready to be altered by a spell. “This is…”

Is there a word to encompass what this means to him? Could a hundred words do it justice?

“This is unthinkably kind, Anthony. I can never repay you.”

“It’s not about payment, IOUs, any of that,” Anthony replies from his side, sounding noticeably less hyperactive than before. He has not become unexcited but seems to have matched Loki’s energy without realizing it. “It’s about keeping you safe—with my tech. I can help you, so I will. Just like you help me.”

“Because I can,” Loki finishes, because it is a simple truth of him now: he will always help Anthony if he can and even when he can’t—he will give all of himself should it keep Anthony (or June) from harm.

“Yeah, exactly!” Loki looks over and Anthony is grinning, his whole face lit up by delight and mutual understanding. For a moment, then two, Loki cannot look away, enthralled. He feels pulled into Anthony’s orbit as strongly as he was pulled into the Void; looking into his eyes is nothing like that place, however —it is the opposite. It is staring into the future and finding it so very, very bright.

Loki smiles, and lets it show the honest and sincere delight he’s feeling now, bubbling up into his throat. The journey to Svartálfheim is now at the very back of his mind, eagerly forgotten in the light of Anthony’s joy. “Very well. How can I be of service, Anthony?”

*

Tony rises from a fifteen-hour power nap and finds Loki passed out on the floor of the common room, sleeping amidst books and ancient slips of paper. A book about transference is opened against his chest, rising and falling with his steady breaths.

June is nearby, second eyelids closed in the way she does when she’s thinking but still awake.

_How long has he been sleeping?_

_Two hours,_ June replies. _We were practicing transferring magical energy. He said mine is ‘piquant.’_

Tony laughs. As he passes, he lifts the book from Loki’s chest and covers him with a blanket, stored near the couch in the case of this very scenario. _Sounds like something he’d say. It go well?_

_Yes. It grows easier everyday to reach for my magic._

_Good,_ Tony says. He resists tucking Loki in (and from going to find a magic marker) before he continues, _you two make up?_

June grows quiet, her eyes opening fully to take Loki’s sleeping body in. _Yes, I think, in part._

Tony knows better than to pry for details. For all that they’re connected, secrets are starting to grow between them. He’s been trying to let go of his philosophy of never keeping a secret from June, since she’s outgrown it; it’s harder than he thought it would be.

Knowing better, though, doesn’t mean he won’t still test the waters. _Was it bad? Your fight._

_Not so much a fight. Maybe it was—it was not an argument, or a misunderstanding, but was it a fight? We did not part with bruised skin._

_Bruised hearts?_

June is quiet. Then: _yes._

_That’s a fight, baby girl._

_I did not like it. Do not still._

_Not a lot of people do. Not with people that matter._

June makes an understanding noise, rumbling in her throat. _It is not easy, to love someone._

Tony almost laughs, but then he reminds himself how fucking _young_ June is, so, yeah, she’s probably just realizing that for the first time. Of course she’s naïve: all she’s known is Tony and unconditional love—for fuck’s sake, the largest argument they ever got in was when Tony made her stop making a nest under his collector cars.

 _Yeah,_ Tony finally directs at her; he knows she felt his resurgence of memories; she doesn’t comment on the still-sore topic of her many, many nests around their various homes. Now, instead of being made from the occasional stolen shirts and blanket, they’re made from thieved mattresses and flags she pulls from the rooves of various buildings across New York. _Love sucks sometimes. Makes things hard to say. Makes us stupid._

 _Does loving me make you stupid, Tony?_ It’s an honest question, asked without a single hint of mockery.

 _A little,_ he answers, hesitantly; he shows her memories of nightmares, of the visions he saw of her being dead and what he wanted to do to himself when he thought it was real; he even thinks about the things he gave up for her: Stark Industries, fights he could have won, opportunities with SHIELD. _But not always. Loving you made me smarter, too._ That accompanied with improved schematics of the Iron Man, Dragon, and Mage suits; the flattened blueprints of the Mark I, the awareness of desperation that brought it to life.

 _It makes you different,_ June declares. _Love makes you think beyond yourself._ She hums, obviously content with this understanding. _I like how it feels to care. I did not always. I always loved you, Tony, but others—I was content to be away from them. But caring for Loki is good. It makes me feel whole._

Tony won’t push the core of that, that June means she wasn't whole before Tony—can’t. _That’s the gist of it, baby girl. I think you’ve got it well in hand._

Innocently, she asks, _and of you?_

_What about me?_

_Do you care for Loki as I do?_

Tony can’t help the chuckle that comes free; it’s not derisive, just surprised, like he expects Loki to wake any second like some romantic comedy. _He’s one of us, baby girl. Sure I do._

Tony has the very distinct impression June just did what he did to her: a moment of revealing, kind patronization, like she knows some fact of the world and is shaking her head at him for not knowing it like she does. He scoffs a touch, and says, _I do! We both missed him. I’m glad he’s back. Even if he clutters up the living room._

This time, June visibly rolls her eyes, as much as a dragon can. She learned that particular gesture from her lifetime spent in his company. _Yes, Tony,_ she replies indulgently. _That is the entire depth of feeling you hold for Loki. That is why you built him a suit, why you dream of him, why you—_

 _I didn’t come here to get ambushed, geez, leave me alone, June!_ He’s quick to cut her off, unsure and unwilling to hear whatever’s going to be sent his way next. _Let me have my own crisis by myself, thanks._

_A crisis? Why the concern?_

_I’m not having this conversation with you, June. Ask JARVIS if you want the sex talk, I’m not going to do it, I refuse._

_Sex talk?_ June repeats, amused. _Did I say something to make you think of this, rider?_

 _Shut up! Not like I’ve had any since you came along, can’t have a moment to myself, damn, you’d think a guy could get some privacy in his own head—_ and yeah, he’s blustering his way out of a sticky conversational corner, cut him some slack. _Go back to your magic or whatever, I’m going to do something important with this adamantine. I’m putting up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and I mean it, June!_

June chuckles, heartily, gurgling in her throat as he flees to his workshop, hiding his reddening skin.

*

June leaves the Tower that night, content to fly above her territory alone. Her bonded are working together, bent over books and working prototypes of Tony’s second skins; they will not miss her for an hour. She carefully closes their connection so she can still feel them—and they her—but the thoughts trickle to a creeping-slow passage.

She takes the time to curl around the city alone, taking in the lights and bustling people below. Reacquainting herself with the layout and changes to the landscape reminds her of her place here, of her duty to protect not only this city but the realm at large. When the ancestor passes into his final sleep, she will be the oldest high dragon in the realms—perhaps even the universe. Its fate and health will fall to her, and it will remain with her even should others be hatched.

A harrowing thought. She barely knows the extent of her powers, gifted by the whispering stone—the Mind Stone—let alone how to use them to protect. She can manipulate the physical world with magic, alter minds with her voice, but how will these abilities translate into guarding the realm, its people, and her riders? June can scarcely imagine it.

It is with these thoughts that she circles the tallest building and its blinking spire, lets her talons brush the leaves of the park within her territory’s center. This city is the beating heart of her territory and being alone amongst its happenings both calms and worries her. She has grown fond of this place, beyond the Home where she grew up, after the dark-place; New York, as Tony named it, is a fine place for her sister to hatch in.

June allows herself a moment of musings—who will her sister, the Protector of Soul, hatch to? June knew of Loki’s desire to be a rider, and while he would be a fine one, he is meant for June and no other. Perhaps another human? Why else would her egg have been lain on Midgard? Perhaps, too, the Soul Stone was once housed here, and that is why she was lain here all that time ago. Or is her rider a being of another realm, long since born and unknowing of their role in the rebirth of dragons?

As she considers the Soul Stone, she recognizes a distant beating sound in her chest, a sensation the ancestor had described as the Time Stone’s pulse. The ancestor’s stone is here, in June’s home? Flicking her ears, she rises high above the city and circles, following the sensation as it grows stronger and weaker with the alterations in her direction.

Tracking the distant beating pulse of a stone is odd, and it takes time; June grows weary of the tiresome wandering, but eventually she swears she can hear the barest hums of a ticking watch alongside the beats of the Time Stone’s heart. She circles around the block, and lands on a building with an odd-circular-familiar-ancestral carving upon the roof.

June sifts through her memories, and when she finds them lacking, turns to the ancestor’s memories. She flicks through the stories, his memories of the other kin, and then finally his own memories, of his rider—Agamotto—and the man’s role on ancient Earth. Ah, there: the symbol carved into stone and burnt onto leather of long-lost books. So, this is Agamotto’s legacy, and it resides in New York—and his trusted still hold their Protector’s stone. A good sign.

June slides down the shingled roof, talons digging into the structure to examine the sigil on the roof, and a man in a red cape flies up to June’s height, which is rather startling, as June thought her rider the only human capable of flight. June blinks at the human—dark haired, with funny little facial designs around his mouth like Tony, wearing a golden amulet around his neck.

She takes but a moment to read his skin, careful to keep her stone-gifted powers from sifting into his mind; she finds him oddly similar to Tony, in his arrogance (the steadiness of his eyes) and his intelligence (in the confidence of his straight spine), but different as well in his demeanor (calmer, wiser even; that, in the shaking of his scarred hands) and his indifference (that, easily seen, in the smoothness of his face). This one has had and lost and learned; he did not escape from his troubles, as Tony did, but rather he twisted them into blessings. And he has suffered for these blessings.

This austere one lowers his hands, and June hears his crackling magic subside. So this one is magic, too? A wonder she has not felt it before now. Perhaps she need be in tune with this subset of magical ability to sense it. Like she is with the Time Stone that hangs around this one’s neck.

June can hear its murmured ticking clearly, now.

“Oh,” says the austere one. June can smell the magic from the cape; so, it is what allows him to fly? A curious thing. “You’re Stark’s dragon.”

June blinks in agreement. She’s perched precariously on the edge of this one’s home, wings splayed to keep her balance, talons digging into the roof. Carefully, she orients her back legs to slide forward and take off, flying up to the flat roof of the building now that her curiosity of the symbol is sated. The austere one follows her, landing away from her but within striking distance (not that the austere one knows this).

“What are you doing here?” the austere one asks her.

June tilts her head. She considers attempting to communicate with this one through yes-no guessing, but June grows tired of that so quickly even with the bright one, Tony’s ally. And she is smart and intuitive to her needs. This austere one does not know her—it will take forever. Her reluctance to speak to any but her bonded has become inconvenient enough to outweigh the fear.

Carefully, she reaches forward with her mind, and speaks into his, _may I speak to you this way?_

The austere one’s eyes widen, and he pulls at his ear as though she had spoken to him there. “Oh, wow. You’re telepathic? I had no idea.”

 _Telepathic?_ June returns, very careful of the weight of her voice. Tony’s mind grew strong over years of accommodating her weight, but humans who are unused to another voice in their head may buckle beneath her words as easily as she bowed to the ancestor’s. _Perhaps. This is my voice._

“Perhaps it is different for dragons,” the austere one says, his voice tilting into interested-obsessive. How similar this one is to Tony. “ _Fascinating._ ” He shakes his head, grins, before he clears his throat as says, “Dr. Stephen Strange. You’re…June, correct?”

_Yes._

“I would have thought Stark would have chosen something a little flashier, name-wise,” the austere one mutters. “In any case. What are you doing here?”

June considers her options. She could resist telling the austere one of her search for the Time Stone—and the danger it attracts to Earth and him—but this would place the austere one in a position of uncertainty and unknowing as to his true danger. Telling him opens avenues of betrayal and complication, but nothing that she can read from his skin tells her he is untrustworthy—or that he would act against the best wishes of Earth—so, perhaps the risks are worthwhile.

Distantly, she feels that Tony and Loki are still absorbed in their work. June considers consulting them, but she knows their minds well enough to predict their arguments, and she knows that they will work with whatever she decides here. In any case, the stones are her responsibility, first and foremost. It falls to her riders, next, but ultimately this is her decision.

June tilts her head towards the austere one, towards the amulet on his chest. _You are a descendant of Agamotto?_

“Descendant?” the austere one repeats, brow furrowed. He touches the amulet on his chest before he shakes his head. “No, we’re not related. The Eye of Agamotto is one of the relics that I wield, as Sorcerer Supreme.”

June hums. She doesn’t know what a Sorcerer Supreme is, but she understands enough to clarify, _not a descendant by blood, but responsibility._

“Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. Why?”

 _I know of this Eye’s power,_ June says, unwilling to detail her knowledge of the ancestor, his connection with Agamotto, and the rest of the history of the Infinity Dragons to explain why she’s here. _How it holds power over time. I came to ascertain its exact location. Now that I know it, I come with a message._

“From who? Stark?”

 _Not quite._ She looks at the austere one, deeper, and continues, _you know of the infinity stones?_

“I’ve read of them.”

_You know, then, you wear one around your neck?_

The austere one looks at her in return, considering her. “What is this about, exactly?”

 _My bonded and I work against a power seeking the stones,_ June says, unbothered. _He may come for you. Guard the Stone with your life, austere one._

After a moment, then two, the austere one replies steadily, “I’d guard it with anyone’s life. I’d let anyone die to protect it—even you. Nothing is taking this stone from me.”

June reads no lies on the austere one’s skin. Perhaps this one is a direct descendant of Agamotto—déjà vu that does not originate in her own memory makes her think this one and the ancestor’s rider are more alike than not. She blinks. _Good._ She stands, flexes her wings, and continues, _it is not time yet. When it comes to fight this danger, I will come to you to aid us. Will you fight?_

“Yes. I protect the Earth from mystical dangers, and I’m getting the feeling this danger is just that.”

June huffs, and smoke spills from between her teeth. _Indeed. May the rest of your night pass undisturbed._

“Sure, you too,” the austere one replies, and watches her take flight and disappear amongst the grey clouds above them.

*

Tony finds Loki standing on the balcony of the tower, leaning against the glass. He’s been closed off for the past two hours—which is not nearly as concerning as usual, since all three of them have been setting tentative boundaries, working out times and places for privacy. Loki’s been taking his time at night; Tony, when he’s working; and June when she’s on her solo flights.

“Hey, there you are. I wanted to show you some updates to Iron Mage, I…” Tony stops when he sees Loki’s face. He’s not visibly upset, or furious, but there’s a curious, vulnerable stillness to his features that immediately sends red flags waving in Tony’s head. “You okay?”

“I believe my father just died,” he says, with no inflection in his voice.

Tony blinks. “Oh,” he says, weakly. He leans against the balcony beside Loki, schematics forgotten. “And, uh…how are we feeling about that?”

Loki shrugs, delicately. “I do not know. I…felt him go. He’s gone—all his secrets taken with him.” He pauses, considers, and continues, “I suppose this means Thor is King, now.”

“Wonder why the big guy hasn’t come to tell you?”

Loki shrugs, a dismissal and an answer all in one. “The King is dead. Long live the King,” he intones, in a voice that holds humor and apathy.

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He looks out over the city with Loki, just being there, hoping it’s enough.

“My dad died when I was seventeen,” Tony says, suddenly. “We fought and he drove drunk, and then he killed himself and my mom when they went off the road. I hated— _hate_ —him for taking my mom from me. I don’t know, it’s hard—I’ve been trying to one-up him for my entire life and he’s been dead for thirty years. I dunno about you, but my dad sure did a number on me. It fucking sucks how he died, but I don’t…miss him, you know?”

Loki doesn’t reply, not right away. After a moment, Loki’s mind opens, the door creaking open. Tony can feel his conflicting emotions, but they’re all muted, like Loki doesn’t know how to feel while not feeling much at all.

“I do not think I will miss him, either. His last words directed at me were ‘No, Loki.’ And you heard how he spoke of me at the trial. My last words to him were of hate, of misdirection, of…well. He is dead, now, it matters not.”

Tony sighs, and says, “wanna go get drunk? I’m sure I can have enough liquor delivered to even get you fucked up.”

“Alright,” Loki says. He pulls away from the balcony, and says, suddenly, “I’m sure Thor will come eventually to relay the news to me. Or relay the news of some catastrophe he’s caused without Odin’s— or my—guidance.”

Tony slings his arm around Loki’s shoulders, sort of down by his shoulder blades. Loki’s body is solid and warm, untense at the casual touch. “Well, we can expect him, then. Until then, let’s get fucked and curse our dads until the sun comes up.”

*

Loki lights a sprig of incense with his fingertips, setting it in front of him before he settles down to meditate. Although his teacher had tried to beat the importance of meditation into him from a young age, he has long fallen out of practice; in Asgard, he considered himself beyond equal (which, occasionally, was true) and so he grew too confident to bother.

Now, he knows better. He breathes in, settling his interlocked fingers across his central lay line, and closes his eyes. Despite the time passed, his body relaxes into a familiar, calm rhythm of meditative breathing. In the quiet and the stillness, he feels his magic thrum through his body alongside his blood, feels it pool in the hollow of his throat. He traces the power there and allows himself the weakness of turning inwards to his center, settling on the bank of the creek beneath dappled light.

Loki can almost feel the place where June had lain, all that time ago; he imagines if he turns his head he could see the flattened grass beneath the tree. But he does not look—does not bother to see what he knows is there—and lets himself breathe in the place he feels most safe.

He feels himself settle there, the place becoming more solid around him; a wind brushes against his face, the light warms his cold fingertips, the water that murmurs which sounds as though it is chilled from the ice-capped mountain it falls from. Leaves rustle, the creek burbles, and the scent of sweet flowers reaches his nose. He feels the death of Odin flutter into his awareness, disrupting the calm like a thundercloud, or an earthquake; he braces under the pressure and weathers the storm.

Loki opens his eyes. Across from him, Anthony sits in a meditative pose Loki taught him. He rests within a wide, open room that seeps with soft natural light, its walls filled with translucent screens and bright books opened and sorted by mechanical, hovering arms. The room around him buzzes with energy and movement, always changing, thoughts crossing across the shifting screens that rotate and move as thought suspended by magnetism. There is no divide between their mindscapes—the transition between Loki’s childhood wooded escape and Anthony’s futurist shifting archive is seamless and constant; the creek that roams from Loki’s mind wanders to Anthony’s, curling around his floors to fall from the distant edge, only to reappear as a waterfall behind the trees at Loki’s back. Anthony’s archivists move from the shelves to prune the patches of wildflowers near the wood’s edge.

Anthony opens his eyes. The archive behind him whirrs and then calms, the reaching arms stilling as the man focuses all his attention on Loki.

Loki has never truly experienced tandem meditation before; he and his mother had attempted, but they had never fallen to the other’s centers. Now, he wonders why that is—it is so simple, to sit here with Anthony and see all that he is and be seen in return. The fear he thought to feel does not rise. His center—the thunderclouds, the shivering earth—calms.

Anthony smiles. His archive buzzes into life, the arms and typing fingers recording and archiving and collecting the sensations, the ongoing memory documented before it is even over. Loki finds himself smiling in return—oh, it is so easy!—and he closes his eyes, cherishes the feeling of togetherness. It would be simple to tense, to grow wary of a hidden knife, but he finds it so uncanny to believe this man could ever hurt him as he has been hurt before.

Time passes oddly, in the mindscape; he and Anthony bide their time together without comment or strife, content to their own wandering thoughts and mulling centers, but doing so together makes the bond between them grow warm and full. Occasionally, thoughts pass between them, fluttering over the shared space; a butterfly transforms into a zipping encoded message, a provisional schematic to a leaf on the wind.

By the time is becomes apparent their time together is done, Loki is unsure how long they have spent together, unspeaking. Their simple and unspoken moment passes, and Loki pulls himself upwards, turns himself right-side out, and blinks open his eyes to the physical world.

Across from him, Anthony does the same. He’s sitting opposite the burnt-down sprig of herb, flexing and unflexing his fingers against his abdomen. He glances up and grins, lopsided, mouth tilted open in a lovely acknowledgment of a shared experience.

It is easier to smile now than it was. Loki says, “and may we find ourselves in a safer domain,” and he finds himself wanting to mean it—wanting to make this universe safer so they may experience this tranquility again someday.

“So,” Anthony says. “You struck me as a library person, but the woods are cool, too, I guess.”

Loki smirks. “And I thought your center to be your workshop. Or perhaps your bedroom.”

Anthony laughs, and Loki is surprised to see his cheeks warm with a charming flush of color.

*

Loki tumbles through the air and flies ten, twenty feet across the room only to land on his front. His back is stinging with the lash of ancient power and he feels winded, unable to catch his breath.

From the sideline of their sparring circle, Anthony whistles. “Damn!”

Almost tentative, June asks him, _did I hurt you?_

Loki gets his hands under him, and rocks onto his haunches, gasping in breaths through his aching lungs. “I will…you caught me…off guard, that’s all…”

“She fucking got you, Loki! Loki four, June one,” Anthony calls, their unofficial (and unwanted) scorekeeper for their sparring session. Loki, in all their other sessions, has dominated through experience, and never gave June a break for her age. Despite his vigor, June has been holding back on her strength, trying to refine her control and strategic thinking in a fight over her raw power. Loki has been trying to chip away at that reluctance since they began to spar the month prior.

Loki may not have boundless raw strength himself, and it is for that reason he practiced fine control and intricate spellwork throughout his life. June, however, has enough strength in both mind and body to dominate nearly any opponent that is slow enough for her to catch—and he has been trying to teach her to utilize that strength against an opponent like Loki, one who may be more experienced and sly but far less powerful. She has been—resistant, wishing instead to grow more cunning like Loki or Anthony.

 _I used too much force, I apologize,_ June frets, lowering her head and nudging at his back with her snout. Her breath ruffles his sweaty hair.

“No, no,” Loki huffs, petting lightly at her snout. “That was wonderful—very smart, to force me to front-load my shields.”

 _Yes?_ June asks, quieter, but a touch ready-to-be-pleased.

“Yes.” Loki gives her the validation she’s looking for. He stands, shakes out his fingers, and draws again upon his seidr to bring his magic back to the tips of his fingers. “Let us try again. I will be ready for that kind of trickery, now. Do not try to outsmart me, June—do as you did before, when we met. Overpower me.”

 _If I overpower you, you will slip away and cut me down at the ankles,_ June argues, allowing Loki to put distance between them to start again.

Loki grins, and summons two daggers, the edges blunted with a slippery buffering spell to prevent injuries. “Better watch your ankles, then, dragon.”

June’s mind sharpens with amusement, and she says, _very well, shrouded one,_ and immediately takes flight. Loki laughs with delight.

*

Later, after Loki regained his brief lapse in honor by cutting June’s magic at the ankles (through a dirty little trick, too, which made Anthony laugh from the sidelines at how June had been able to predict it), Loki asks her, _you called me the shrouded one again. Why?_

June hums. She’s tired and beaten, but not angry—not like Thor or his friends, when they sparred Loki and lost to his magic or his illusions; they grew furious and cold, spitting at his feet. June is pleased by her performance and unbothered that she lost. All Loki can feel from her is satisfaction with her progress.

_When I first saw you, I saw a shroud of magic hanging before your head, like a veil. It hid your center from my view and hid your mind from yourself. You were shrouded then in other ways as well—from everyone; you masked your self to avoid pain._

Loki breathes in. June rolls onto her back, stretching and curling like a contented cat as she says, _I named myself, did you know that?_

_I did not. Why?_

_Names are important to dragons. They hold power. I gave myself a name for this rebirth, a name of warmth and midsummer and life, and I give all those around me names that reflect them. The one I gave to you was powerful until we were bound—and then the name you give to others became the one I respect._

_You surrendered the power of the name you gave me out of respect? For me?_

_Yes, of course. I never named Tony in that way for the same reason._

Loki doesn’t respond, but he does not turn away from her, mind or body. June says, _you are always surprised when I show that I love you._

_It is…foreign, to me._

_I hope not for much longer._

*

Tony is very rarely at a loss. He always has plans, contingencies, ideas, all lined up inside his head—shifting and turning and slotting into place, all accountable to dozens and dozens of variables. He’s managed to get through his entire life by one of these plans-contingencies-crackpot ideas working out somehow. Being a genius gives him access to these ideas and usually the first three he gets are more than good enough to work (and be quality, too). But sometimes he ends up falling back onto brutish, efficient plans to reach his goal—unstylish, but functional.

Tony has long since moved past even that version of success.

He’s been trying to work with the adamantine Loki bartered for him for months now. Between his work on their three armors (Mage is Mark XX now; Dragon is Mark XXIV; Iron Man is Mark XIX) and working with the two eggs in their possession (he’s placed them both in a mineral water incubator he built, which seems to have stabilized the sleeping dragons inside) he’s had his spare time consumed by trying to crack the adamantine.

Literally. He’s spent months just trying to put a scratch on this thing. And _nothing_ works. Extreme heat and cold, pressure, friction, vacuum, lasers, acid (and bases), arc reactor energy, dragon fire— _nothing works._ All of JARVIS’ predictions and simulations lead to the same outcome: absolute failure.

Tony has gone from his sleek and lovely plans to the contingencies of his contingencies and now he’s firmly in the desperation-stupefied stage. He doesn’t know what else to try. He got close to this kind of feeling while his reactor was poisoning him, but dear old dad pulled through via Fury and that had been just enough to jumpstart new ideas.

Maybe he’s just missing something. He consulted June and Loki, the former having no clue and the latter gave him a mischievous little smirk and had told him when he needed help to come to him. Which, ouch. Tony had been confident in his ability to make progress three months ago, but now?

Looks like he needs someone else to come in on the clutch. At least this time he’s not dying. Small mercies, really.

Loki doesn’t always come when he’s called, but when Tony sends him the gleam of the adamantine, he’s down in the workshop with little fuss.

“Fine, you win,” Tony says, hurrying to continue, “tell me what to do with this.” He tosses the unscathed nugget of adamantine at Loki, who catches it with a curling smile.

“Have your fun, Anthony?”

“Tons,” Tony replies, deadpan. “Just tell me how to shape it.”

Loki tosses the adamantine back and sweeps through the workshop towards his part—well, not Loki’s part exactly, but when he started working on the Iron Dragon armor, he’d insisted on having an entire forge and a handful of choice tools nearby so now there’s a whole section of the workshop that looks like it was plucked from a fashionable version of the middle ages. Tony follows and watches as Loki places the adamantine on his anvil before whispering under his breath and conjuring a bright white flame in the center of his palm. Loki leans to his hearth and lights the fuel within with the flame, which grows bright and tall as it takes root there.

Loki turns and gestures grandly to the hearth. “This flame will be capable of smelting this ore,” he says, smiling. “It is the only flame capable, beyond Nidavellir’s hearth. My tools will be capable of shaping it.”

Tony eyes the hearth. It looks like any regular forge—not even dissimilar to the one in Afghanistan. “What’s up with it?”

“It is a flame of June’s, fueled by a very complicated spell. I learned of it during my travels in Alfheim. I…liberated a spellbook from one of the ancient libraries to study it here.”

Tony grins—of course Loki hadn’t just come across the answer. “You stole it. Nice. And why is this fire better than my hydraulic press?”

“It burns hotter than the cores of most stars,” Loki informs him. “Do be careful not the touch it. I would hate to go looking and find you little more than a pile of ash.”

Tony can’t help but laugh. All the frustration and annoyance he felt now melts away, his whole mind opened to the possibilities of having a super-heated forge in his workshop. He can barely imagine the kind of trouble he can get into with this hanging around now—all the new alloys he could try and melt together, forged under heat impossible to artificially create…

Tony turns to pester Loki as to why he’s kept this out of Tony’s hands for so long, and he’s struck for one moment by Loki, in his entirety. He’s standing beside the forge, clothed in a hybrid of Asgardian leathers and Earthen formal wear—a button down, throat opened, a long piece of cloth that falls like a cape over one shoulder and that curls over his chest and is pinned around his waist, almost Grecian (and it’s a fetching green, very on-brand)—and his hair is shorter than usual, recently cut and hanging just below his ears, pushed away from his face. The left side of him is illuminated by the forge, catching the lines and curves of his face and his long, slender body; his eyes, green and open and light-brightened, are lingering on the flames within.

He’s smiling, too. Not a wide, toothy thing—not curled with mischief—not tight and controlled—he’s just…smiling, like he’s not aware of it, like he’s filled with simple and easy gladness and he’s relaxed enough, calm enough, safe enough that his face reflects all that he’s made of.

Tony’s just…looking at him. Taking him in. He feels that quiet-serenity-stillness that usually comes with meditation settle over him, like a blanket. For once, his mind is quiet, and he just wants to look. Not touch, not fuck, not tinker, not change, just…look.

Oh. _Oh._ Tony might be a genius, but he suddenly realizes how very stupid love has made him.

Loki looks up, catches his eyes. His smile, easy and unassuming, widens slightly, opening, drawing Tony in. His mind is warm and simple and familiar and _fuck_ what Tony wouldn’t do for him.

“Well?” Loki says. “Have you no words?”

Their connection is shaded enough that Loki hasn’t caught Tony’s moment. Tony finally pulls his eyes away, doesn’t find it difficult to smile despite the confusion and the slightest hint of fear rattling around in his fluttering ribs. This is something he needs to…needs to sleep on, needs to work out before he even thinks about laying this down at Loki’s feet. His emotionally-scarred, trust issue laden feet. “You wish. You doing anything, or do you want to finish what you started?”

Loki grins. “I never leave something unfinished.”

*

JARVIS says, “Sir, I have located the individual who stole the Mind Stone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're here for LOVE people. even the tags have changed. also im asexual as FUCK (thats some ace humor for you there, on the house) so im here for romance not ""touching""" whatever that means
> 
> also listen i haven't seen civil war/AoE since they came out so anything that don't add up that's the reason. not a huge fan of either so im just.........ignoring them (for now). you know what i'm not ignoring? ragnarok. great shit thank you taika you've blessed us
> 
> see you sometime i'm swamped with work from thursday-sunday so we'll see when the next update gets out lmao
> 
> blame any formatting mistakes on the lemonade love y'all hope you enjoy xx


	9. Obliviate or Murder? You Decide! (The Answer Is More Complicated Than You Think!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days Since Shit Went Sideways: 0. Tony and Loki build something new from the rubble. Tony and June try to do the same. 
> 
> Also, Svartálfheim dragon egg, _right._ That’s what they’ve been forgetting.

_Maximoff,_ Tony repeats. _I can’t believe this._

 _Repeating it will not make you believe it any more,_ Loki replies, disgruntled. His hands have settled comfortably on Tony’s waist, his body set further back in the passenger seat; the new saddle is doing wonders for two-rider comfort on long-haul flights. The Iron Mage boots are programmed just like the flyte suit to lock into the saddle, so he can sit without clenching his thighs, too.

_We missed a pissed-off brother! It took us way too long to find him—if I knew, we could have gotten the Mind Stone back that much sooner…_

_There is no changing it,_ June replies, firmly. _We will find him now._

_I’m going to do better._

Here’s the thing about Tony: June can be comforted by the knowledge the past cannot change, that actions taken cannot be undone; Loki, too, acknowledges the curse of the past but wastes little time regretting what has bene done—Tony, though, he lingers on mistakes and failures to adapt and evolve. He carries every mistake with him, so he can take the knowledge of those mistakes and make a dozen contingencies for that situation in the future.

He lingers on the pain of what he’s done wrong to motivate him. He wasn’t able to find Pietro Maximoff—despite the connection to Wanda, someone with a known motive to hurt Tony Stark—and now the Mind Stone is in the wind. May still be, even after they find Maximoff.

Tony will do better.

They fly for another hour before they hone in on JARVIS’ coordinates for the safehouse he spotted Maximoff at that evening. It had taken JARVIS time to parse through the security footage on a nearby street corner to find proof of Maximoff’s presence there, but with some satellite images and SHIELD data they’re right where they need to be.

 _Okay, June, Loki and I are going to go in alone,_ Tony says, once June begins a lazy circle high above the safehouse, a small tucked-away building in a Sokovian town, hidden by night clouds. _The streets are way too tight for you to fit in, baby girl, so just be our eye in the sky._

 _Be safe,_ is all she says. It’s accompanied with the vague images of burning the place down, though, so that’s comforting as a back-up plan.

Loki detaches from the saddle and uses the repulsors to hover next to June. He’s more unstable than Tony, hands and legs jerking from the force, but they’re able to descend without Loki spinning out of control or dropping like a rock. He’s drawing on Tony’s motor memory to direct his hands and his feet, but overall, he’s doing pretty well for his second time in the suit. His HUD, a sleek clear screen that projects in front of his eyes, vanishes once they land in the street.

According to JARVIS, there’s no life signs within the small house, so Loki retracts one of the gauntlets and does his magic on the backdoor lock, manipulating the pins with little tendrils of magic until the door clicks open. The room within is dark and barely illuminated by the soft street lights of the residential street; as they step in, they find themselves in a cold little kitchen, barely decorated.

 _I’ll take upstairs,_ Tony says.

Loki agrees nonverbally and disappears into the darkness through an open doorway to their right. Tony goes down the hall, poking his head into rooms as he passes—a closet and a bathroom—before he reaches the front of the house and the tight staircase along the wall. JARVIS hasn’t spotted any signs of movement indicative of anything fast-moving, or living, so Tony climbs the stairs with only one repulsor raised.

The upstairs has three rooms, two of which are bedrooms and the third a study. Both bedrooms clear—one of the beds was recently slept in and haphazardly made; the other was locked and it felt like stepping into a shrine, with women’s clothing on the bed and a handful of jewelry on the bedside table—and the study is clear, too. Tony wonders why Maximoff isn’t at his house at night, but JARVIS had logged him coming and going and staying away for intermittent amounts of time, so maybe he has a secondary location.

_Upstairs is clear. I’m looking through an office up here. You have anything?_

_No. The basement has relics of a past, but nothing useful. I will keep looking._

June hears them and hums agreement, still circling above.

Tony flicks through the papers on the desk while JARVIS scans for the Mind Stone at close range. There’s not much here—it’s mostly junk mail, scribbled notes about Stark Industries, grocery lists, back-and-forth mundane conversations. Nothing special. He’s about to go meet up with Loki downstairs when a corner of a page, hidden beneath a pile of mail, catches his eye. He tugs it free and raises his eyebrows when it turns out to be a printed page about…June?

It’s familiar, too— _oh,_ shit, it’s SHIELD’s file on June. He pushes through that pile and finds the rest of it’s there, every page. Tony has access to the file through JARVIS’ backdoor, so he knows that this isn’t the most updated version of the file, but it’s really damn close—only off by two months.

The papers are underlined, annotated with notes like _is this true?_ and _be aware of this._ One or both of the Maximoffs had this printout and have been studying June’s powers—SHIELD only knows about her intelligence, her fire, and a hint of her magic—probably since before Wanda attacked him in New York.

Tony gathers the report and descends to the basement, where he finds Loki elbow-deep in a wooden trunk, rummaging around through photo albums and quilts.

“Why the fuck would these guys have a SHIELD report about June?” he asks aloud.

Loki surfaces, dusting off his hands; the gauntlets retract before he takes the papers and skims through them. “Have they a similar access point to you as JARVIS?”

Tony snorts.

Loki’s mouth twists in a smile. “I thought not. These two must have been aided by someone within SHIELD, then.”

Tony goes to reply, but JARVIS starts to say, “Sir—” in an urgent tone that he only uses with imminent danger, and the next thing he knows, Tony’s being flung forward like a missile exploded at his back and he crashes into Loki. They go tumbled over the trunk and land in a pile of limbs and metal, Loki growling from the weight of Tony atop him.

“What the fuck,” Tony gasps, clambering off Loki; as he gets off, Loki is gone from beneath him in a blur. Now that he’s aware of something fucking with them, he can hear the accelerated pounding of feet on the cement floor.

_Maximoff!_

Loki’s mind flares bright with rage, and Tony finds him again across the room, tied to a central support beam with chains and a padlock. His mouth is duct-taped, too, and his eyes are bright with fury. Tony blinks, but the surviving Maximoff can move twenty feet in three milliseconds, so he shouldn’t be surprised he could tie up Loki in the blink of an eye.

“Kinky,” he says, locking up his survival instincts, hoping to slow Maximoff down enough to get a visual. June isn’t drawn down to them yet, since Tony is calm and Loki isn’t beside himself with rage or pain yet. “His safeword is _Asgard.”_

That draws Maximoff out: he stops about ten feet away from Tony. He’s a youngish man, with bleach blonde hair and a drawn, pale face beneath a scraggly dark beard. There’s a distant kind of relation to the witch, in the curve of his brow.

“Tony Stark,” Pietro Maximoff says, darkly. “I should have known.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony replies. Loki sends him, _one more moment, my hands will be free._ He continues, “you did kind of steal something of mine.”

“You killed my sister!” Maximoff vanishes again, a gust of wind and a thundering sound whooshes past Tony and suddenly he’s being held against the wall, his helmet gone—how the _fuck_ did the punk manage that? By the way his teeth are vibrating, though, he guesses Maximoff _shook_ it off him.

“It’s your fault she’s dead! Her and my family—it’s _your fault!”_ Tony’s head reels from a sudden and unseen punch that makes his eyes roll in the back of his head. He tries to raise his repulsor, but Maximoff darts out of the way; he punches Tony again when he tries to get his mouth around the order to fire a unibeam from the reactor.

Behind Maximoff’s back, Loki’s hands twist free from the knotted chains and green magic sparks around his fingers; Maximoff vanishes again, and Tony drops like a rock. He gasps and shakes his head as his vision clears. When it does, he sees Loki lording over Maximoff’s struggling body, pinned to the ground by writhing magical bindings.

 _Are you all right?_ Both June and Loki are sending him similar sentiments.

“Took your sweet time,” he mutters, rubbing at his head—blood wets his fingers, dripping from a stinging cut in his brow.

“The bindings were tight,” Loki replies, and Tony can’t tell if he’s being facetious or not. Tony stands and witnesses Loki’s breathtakingly dispassionate glance down to Maximoff, who is still struggling against Loki’s magic; whatever the guy did, though, it’s holding him firm even through whole-body vibrations that make him look like a mirage.

“Look,” Tony says, “I don’t know what I did to kill your family, but your sister attacked me first. I’m sorry that she’s dead but that’s what happens when you come after people like me.”

Maximoff snarls at him. He looks—torn apart, is a good way to put it. Scraggly and snarling and very, very tired. He’s grieving and he’s falling apart at the seams.

Tony sighs. “Look. We’re just here for the scepter. Hand it over and we’ll let you go to terrorize us another day. Give you another shot at revenge.”

Loki’s mind snaps at him in rage, obviously not pleased with that sentiment. Maximoff spits at Tony’s boots and doesn’t reply. Loki sniffs disdainfully, his face smooth and not reflecting any of his furious thoughts. The way he’s able to hide his feelings behind a mask of indifference is rather magnificent.

“You may wish to reconsider your position, mutant. I could crush you to nothing with but a single spell. It would not be…pleasant.”

He spits a curse this time. “I will give you nothing.”

June’s voice rings through their shared space, all at once, and says, _he does not lie. He believes the explosives he set still active—he wants to die and take you with him._

 _Explosives?_ Tony jerks, slightly, but his suit hides the flinch. His instinctive gut-fear rings between their minds before he can snatch it back.

 _I found them,_ Loki dismisses. _I got rid of them._

 _Bonded,_ June says, after Tony flashes through a brief spike of panic and settles only once he watches Loki’s memory of finding the bomb and magicking it away. _I could reach to his mind, find what we need to know._

Loki goes tense, his mind throbbing behind a pane of glass. _Have you not already?_

_No. I will only do so should we all agree._

Tony smiles. He’s pleased she’s learning how to navigate both their shared and personal issues. _I don’t want to torture this kid. We killed his sister, he deserves to be angry._

 _Angry, yes. But I do not tolerate him striking out at us, let alone dooming us all to Thanos’ wrath,_ Loki replies.

_I doubt he knows anything about Thanos._

Darkly, _we shall see. Fine, June. Rifle through his mind._

As Tony feels June reach through their minds, he feels a brief twinge of concern: is this right? June is the Protector of Mind—her powers are rooted entirely in the power of the mind, of its pathways and secrets and privacy. Is it wrong to use what she can do to invade this kid’s mind to further their own goals? Is Tony allowing the breach of the last true space of personal privacy?

Then again, Tony hasn’t been alone in his head in four years, so maybe he’s biased.

June shields them from most of Maximoff’s memories, and she doesn’t spend a long amount of time there. Tony watches Maximoff’s face shutter with shock, tighten with fear and invasion, and then fade with distance, like he’s on the verge of falling asleep under sedation. He barely twitches when June withdraws.

 _He and his sister were given powers through experiments with the Mind Stone, while it was stored in Prague, near this place._ June reports, slowly. _He stole it after he was approached in a dream. He was offered a deal—the scepter for his sister’s life._

_By who?_

June sends them an image: a dream-blurred figure with grey skin and an odd, flat nose. There aren’t many details, but they can tell the figure isn’t human. Loki doesn’t seem to recognize him so it’s not the Other, at least.

 _He gave the scepter to this person—_ now, an image of a humanoid blue-skinned woman who looks more android than flesh— _and was told his sister would be returned to him in the coming months._

“Shit,” Tony sighs. He rubs his head and winces when he smears blood across his skin. “He’s got the Mind Stone back.”

Loki’s mind is thrumming with fear-fury-resignation, but Tony can only feel it because Loki is concentrating aptly on still holding down Maximoff and not on shielding his emotions from them.

“Fuck,” Tony continues. He shakes his head and redirects. “June, did you see how he got the file on you?”

_He was supplied the information by something called HYDRA._

_HYDRA? Like, the Nazis?_

_I do not know. The experiments conducted on him were done by the organization, however._

“What shall I do with him, then?” Loki finally says, looking reigned in; his mind is glassy and reflective, now, and Tony can’t see the fear that had spiked in him anymore. Maximoff is quiet and still beneath his magic, eyes still distant from whatever June did.

“I vote not murder,” Tony says, immediately. “He’s subdued right now. Let’s hand him over to SHIELD.”

“He will escape and come after us again,” Loki dismisses. “Killing him is the easiest and safest solution.”

“You took him down in three seconds,” Tony argues right back. “He’s an inconvenience at most!”

“He struck you!” Loki replies, face dark.

“He’s not the first to do that, and he won’t be the last, Loki! Take one from June’s book—if you’re gonna kill every one who wants to punch me, you’re gonna kill half the population!”

Apparently, that’s not quite the deterrent Tony thought it would be. “Look, Loki. I can’t let you kill someone we’ve got pinned down. Blame it on my hero complex or whatever, but that’s just not an option.”

Loki redirects his glare from Maximoff to Tony. After a moment of tension and silence, he grinds his teeth and spits, “Fine. But we _cannot_ hand him to SHIELD. They have proven themselves incompetent again and again, with the dragon eggs, with my brief imprisonment—and I will not place us in a position to be blindsided by this one.”

“Fine,” Tony agrees, desperate for a compromise. “Fine. Then…well. Fuck. I think those were our only ideas.”

“No. June can erase his memories of us, of his desire for revenge. He will still be alive, but he will be wiped of the desire to harm you.”

Tony blinks. “That seems like a…radical option, from you.”

Loki narrows his eyes, suspicious. Tony hears a brief conversation between him and June, as though from behind closed doors, but he can’t hear the words. “It is the only compromise I see. Unless you would prefer me to slit his throat?”

“Uh, no, that’s fine.” _At least he’ll be alive,_ Tony thinks, keeping it to himself.

June approaches again, and Tony has to tune his mind away so he can’t feel whatever June is doing to remove the memories. He doesn’t like this—doesn’t like the idea of Maximoff waking up in his basement without the memories of tonight, without his innate desire to avenge the death of his sister. It doesn’t seem…fair.

But Tony knows he needs to protect the three of them. He knows he needs to let Loki and June in on deciding how to do that—how they all can protect each other. And if that means…this…then Tony has to let it happen.

June pulls away, and Maximoff is asleep. Loki lets his magic fade, and Tony turns away. He can’t verbalize how the concept of their actions is disturbing him—not when Loki would gladly kill him to rid themselves of the problem.

“I need to get out of here,” Tony mutters; he grabs his helmet and flies up the stairs, squeezing out of the house before he shoots up to June, where she still circles. Her dark body against the distant clouds looks more like a vulture than it does a dragon.

*

 _No, Loki,_ June repeats, as they approach the tower. Anthony has flown ahead, eager for space; his mind, before it closed to them, had been roiling with conflict and revulsion. June convinced Loki to give Anthony the space in both body and mind to sort through his feelings despite the hurt Loki can feel radiating from a quiet part of her mind.

 _I did not tell him,_ June continues. _He would not be reacting this way if he knows I have stolen memories before, let alone from you._

 _Why would he think it a ‘radical option,’ then?_ Loki’s mind is roiling in a similar way, but not with disgust: he’s helpless and angry and worried that Anthony thinks differently—worse—of him.

_He knows of your time under the Other’s torture, of the Mind Stone’s influence over your mind. That is enough for him. You have not forgotten he is the most intelligent of us, have you?_

Loki snorts, turning his head away as through June was watching him. Beneath him, June’s rough exhale jostles his ankles against her ribs.

 _Bonded,_ June entreats, circling the tower and preparing to descend upon the penthouse balcony, _I would not betray you this way. I did not tell him. Examine my memories, feel my truth._

 _No,_ Loki sighs. _No. I know you did not. Anthony would have…he would have come to me, if he knew. I know this. I merely…_

Loki doesn’t have the words to explain his reaction. He trusts June, in a way he can’t explain. He knows she only did what he asked of her, that he feels more whole for her choice to indulge him, that she is as vulnerable to him as he is to her—that, too, she swore him an oath that would kill her rider should she break it. Perhaps his doubt is something to do with that Anthony is her rider, that their bond supersedes him by two years and a gap of experience and love; that, in some intrinsic way, Loki is still…secondary, to them.

 _I am concerned,_ Loki finally finishes.

 _I am as well,_ June admits, as she lands. After a moment, she tentatively asks him, _is he…disgusted, with me? With my powers?_

Loki realizes June is as insecure as he is, in this moment. They are both unsettled and unsure of their bond to Anthony, of where they each individually stand with him, now. Even June, who has been by his side since the darkest time of his life, is uncertain that Anthony accepts her as she is—as the being she has grown into.

 _No, I do not think so,_ Loki seeks to comfort her. In his time of learning, when he grew powerful in the magical arts, none but his teacher accepted his proficiencies and his desire to learn. He, as June’s bonded, can offer some support and acceptance to this young dragon. _He loves you, June. That will not change._

 _I know this,_ June replies, softly; Loki slides from her back and faces her, encompassed by her endlessly grieving arc-reactor eyes. Her head lowers and nudges into Loki’s sternum, seeking comfort; he lifts his hands, gauntlets retracted, and runs his hands along the scales beneath her eyes. _He will always love me. But I worry he will not trust me. That he will not…accept me._

 _Kusmyre,_ Loki replies, gently, in the same voice he has heard Anthony say, “baby girl,” _do not fear such things. I have been among those who do not trust powers like yours. Anthony is not one of them._

June doesn’t reply. Her eyes close, both sets of eyelids, and makes a soft, sad sound in the back of her throat. Loki runs his hands beneath her eyes to the center of her skull, his fingers catching on the central spot that the scales of her face meet, circling, the meeting of her lay lines.

*

Tony turns from the forge and finds Loki standing nearby, the Iron Mage armor replaced on its designing vessel. Without Loki’s emotions in the back of his head, Tony is immediately faced with the fact of how difficult it is to read the guy’s expression. He’s as blank and emotionless as glass.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. After a stretch of silence, Tony sighs. “Look. I just need some time to myself. I know _you_ get that.”

“Do you?” Loki says, inflectionless. He crosses the threshold from the shop into the forge, skirting the hearth with deliberate steps.

“Yeah. I’m not—look, I’m grateful you didn’t kill Maximoff, but I need some space to figure out the consequences of what we _did_ do to him.”

“What June did to him.”

Tony blinks, and then narrows his eyes. Loki is still approaching, but it’s not with that easiness that he usually walks with down here; he’s tight and tense, almost stalking in the way he holds his shoulders and hides his hands behind his back. “What are you trying to say?”

Loki shrugs, a deceivingly delicate gesture. “I am not trying to say anything. I am _trying_ to ascertain your opinion on what occurred. But you are the one who has blocked June and I from knowing.”

“I want some privacy!” Tony seethes. He calms, sucks in a breath between his teeth. Loki is still coming closer, each footfall deliberately placed. He’s within reaching distance, now. “I want to… _need_ to figure this out.”

“Have you considered how your silence is making June feel?” Loki asks, enunciating clearly. He takes another step, and Tony takes an instinctive step back, but finds himself pinned against the anvil he had been working the adamantine on. Loki steps closer. “How it makes me feel?”

“I’m not going to let you manipulate me into feeling guilty for wanting space,” Tony says, almost snapping. “This was—this was _fucked up,_ Loki. We fucked with his mind, we—we tore out a core part of him, something that was _his._ How are we any better than the guy who fucked with your head?”

“You mean how is _June_ any better,” Loki corrects, closer still. Tony swallows and feels the side of the anvil dig into his back as Loki’s body comes closer. He’s not scared, but Loki has never invaded his personal space like this since they were bonded—and definitely not in the time Tony realized he was in love with him. Being this close while Loki is unreadable makes his heart race in equal measures of desire and anxiety.

“No, I mean us,” Tony replies, a beat too late. He knows his face is more open than Loki’s, projecting all the mishmash of conflicting fear-fury-self loathing he’s contending with inside. Even without their connection, Tony knows he’s just as open to interpretation. “It was _our_ decision.”

“But June’s power,” Loki replies. His eyes are bright and unflinching, meeting and holding Tony’s without feeling. “Is June _fucked up_ because this was her doing? It was her that stole Maximoff’s memories, after all. Her that rifled through his head as the Other did to me.”

Tony swells with anger. “No! June isn’t—no. It’s not her fault she has these powers. It’s not—”

Loki’s arms unravel from behind his back and bracket Tony in against the anvil, on either side of him. Tony swallows as he feels himself corralled by Loki’s body, still and tense. They’re not touching, but every inch of Tony’s body is burning with the sliver of distance between them; his chest heaves and his muscles twitch with the strength of refusing to move even a millimeter.

“It’s not _what,_ Anthony?”

Tony can’t look away. He takes a breath in—shaky, _fuck,_ he feels broken open, exposed to Loki in a far different way than ever before. Loki’s been inside his mind, for fuck’s sake, but he feels more stripped and naked than ever before despite their minds’ separation. Loki is so close, neck bent to bring his face down to meet Tony’s, noses nearly touching; his even breaths tickle Tony’s skin, tighten the skin of his lips.

“June isn’t fucked up,” Tony says, softer and quieter and private. He’s not falling into Loki’s eyes—he’s pinned beneath them, like a butterfly, under his body and the strength of his will. “It’s who she is. She’s the dragon of the Mind Stone. I know that—I know it’s who she is. I can’t change that any more than I can change being Iron Man. It’s not that I’m upset with her or who she is, I’m upset at _me_ for misleading her. For not—for not being able to teach her what’s right and wrong. That taking someone’s memories without them—without…without them knowing isn’t _right_. That it isn’t okay that Pietro Maximoff will wake up tonight and not love his sister as much as he did yesterday.”

Loki doesn’t reply. He doesn’t retreat, or let Tony have any breathing room; his body remains a dominating and enclosing force, pinning Tony down without hesitation or relief. Tony sucks in a breath and feels his arc reactor barely contact Loki’s chest, the barest brush of connection. His fingers tighten against the anvil behind him, aching to reach out, to touch the pale column of Loki’s throat, to feel the delicate hairs that grow wispy at the base of his neck.

But he stays still. Loki’s head, slowly, tilts to one side, cocked, eyes unmoving. Tony has never been in a room that has felt _this_ alive with tension—where all the energy of the space condenses into an inch of space between two pairs of lips and hungers for the spark of a touch between two hands.

“But he will live,” Loki replies, barely loud enough to hear.

“Will he? The person he loved most was taken from him, in every way. His body will be alive, but he won’t be…he won’t be _him_ anymore.”

“He will live,” Loki repeats. “He will not remember. He may be different. But he will _survive._ Is that not what his beloved would want?”

Tony has the quiet thought they’re not talking about Pietro Maximoff anymore.

“I don’t know, Loki,” Tony murmurs. He drops the delicate pretense they’ve built up during the subtle shift of the conversation. “It’s not for me to say. Personally? I would rather die than forget you.”

Loki blinks, the first time since he cornered Tony against the anvil. He blinks again, eyes brighter than before.

“I know that’s not what everyone would want,” he continues, gently, “but if I had to make the choice, that’s mine.”

“How is being dead better than forgetting, to you?” Loki asks. His eyes are more piercing than before, searching for something deeper. “At least if you survived, there would be a chance—for happiness, to remember again someday.”

Tony shrugs, bringing his reactor close to Loki’s chest again. The movement shifts one of his hands just enough to brush against Loki’s; his skin is cold, like he’d just come inside from a winter’s night walk. “I couldn’t stand not knowing. If I forgot my mom, Jarvis, Yinsen, you—June…I don’t know. I couldn’t live with even the idea that something was missing from me. Some…some version of me might live in my skin, might wear my smile and might even love someone else, but it wouldn’t be _me._ ”

Loki’s breath now is as shaky as Tony’s, as he takes it in, his ribs expand and place the smallest hint of pressure against the reactor. Loki swallows, throat clicking, and Tony can feel the slightest vibration of his trembling arms on either side of his body. “Would you…would you fault me for not making the same choice? For…for choosing to forget rather than die…or live in the pain of separation?”

“No, Loki,” Tony whispers, immediate and sincere. He closes the circuit of their bodies and grasps Loki’s hand behind him, fingers folding over his. Shivers shoot up his arm, gooseflesh prickling up to his collarbone, down his thighs. “I would never. One day you’ll lose me, and maybe you’ll make the choice to forget me—to be someone else. That’s okay because it’s your _choice_. How could I say I love you if I couldn’t let you choose to live happily without me?”

Loki blinks, once, twice, three times. His mouth opens and closes. His weight leans forward, the slightest shift of his center of balance, and their chests meet with the softest, sweetest pressure.

“You love me?”

Tony smiles, a delicate and quick upturn of the corners of his mouth. His heart is fluttering in his throat and thudding beneath the reactor. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I think I have for a while.”

Loki’s eyes move from Tony’s eyes to his face, seeking lies in the corners of his eyes, in the curve of his tongue; when he finds none, he returns his gaze to Tony’s eyes, face melting into an expression of shock—but also warmth, and enchantment, and endless affection. Loki’s smile lights up his eyes and warms his skin and Tony’s breath leaves him for better places.

“You love me,” Loki repeats, his words curling at the edges with delight. His posture shifts from trapping Tony’s body into embracing him—his stance widening, knees opening, shoulders and neck loosening, arms falling inward, his long fingers seeking Tony’s. “I have wondered so…”

Tony feels his body mirroring the energy of the room, his body bleeding tension to accept Loki’s touch, seeking him rather than sitting still beneath his will. “I wonder the same, you know.”

“Do you?” Now, Loki’s tone warms into something close to teasing, the slick tension of the start of their conversation finally and entirely evolving into something ambrosial. His face lowers infinitesimally, not touching, but the gesture is enough to make his feelings clear. “Hmm. Should I wait to alleviate your wonder until you have had time to ‘think things through?’ Perhaps give you some privacy?”

Tony laughs, the sound bubbling out before he can stop it. He moves one of his hands from the anvil and touches Loki’s wrist, holding him near; he seeks his skin beneath the cuff of his shirt, chilled and delicate. He skims his hand up, feeling the nimble muscles of his forearm, bicep, shoulder, until he rests his fingers gently upon the skin of his throat. Loki’s body moves ever-so-closer to the gentle touch.

“Fuck you,” he laughs, quiet and mischievous, flexing his fingers on Loki’s neck just enough to let him know he means it in the kindest and sweetest way he knows.

Loki smiles. “Of course I feel the same, Anthony. How could I not? Despite what you may think, you are easy to love.”

“Fuck,” Tony whispers. Loki’s head droops, his forehead coming to rest against his, eyelashes dark against the slope of his cheekbones. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I can say it again, if it pleases you.”

Tony smiles. His eyes trace every line and shade of Loki’s face before meeting his eyes once the other’s open, soft. “I might make you say it a hundred times. Just to make sure.”

Loki returns to smile, even lets a small, breathless laugh float in the space between them. “Only if you return the favor.”

“I can do one better,” Tony muses. At the playful tilt of Loki’s mouth, he finally, _finally_ , closes the distance between them, head tilted, eyes drifting shut, and presses his lips gently to Loki’s—closed mouth, the slightest and tenderest pressure. Loki mirrors him, a soft and honeyed sigh escaping his nose as his body shifts closer; his hand lifts to clasp the dip of Tony’s spine, gentle.

A moment passes, then two; Tony pulls away, barely able to resist kissing him again—so he doesn’t, reaches up again to press his lips to the corner of Loki’s mouth. Loki sighs again, somehow sweeter than before. Tony reaches into the back of his mind, opens their connection gently; Loki’s mind reaches for him just as they kiss again—chaste, gentle, so undemanding and kind—and the breath in Tony’s chest loosens and warms as their minds connect, filling in the empty places the other left in the brief absence of the evening.

They pull away, the slightest space between them; Tony’s eyes open to find Loki’s already taking him in, soaking up the image of his face Tony can see reflected in his blown pupils. Tony smiles. Loki smiles in return, his cheeks warmed with a gentle blush, eyes crinkled, love and happiness and boundless joy resonating in his mind and meeting the mirrored and identical feelings spilling from Tony.

“I want to remember you,” Loki whispers. His eyes close and he lets his forehead fall onto Tony’s, support and comfort. “I want to choose to remember you.”

Tony cups the back of his head, threads his fingers through the hair that hangs about his ears. “Carry my memory for as long as it makes you happy. The moment my love becomes too heavy, let me go until I see you again.”

*

June opens her eyes and Tony is there, sitting cross-legged near her snout. He’s working on one of his tablets, and June recognizes the second-skin he built for her. The room she fell asleep in is dark, only illuminated by the moon’s light and the sparkle of electric lamps from the street below; the light sits on his skin like dewdrops.

She blinks and lets a questioning little rumble escape from her throat. It’s when he turns to her that she realizes his mind is open to her, together but not seeking touch. June tentatively reaches for him, and he gently clasps her back, meeting in the middle.

 _Hey, baby girl,_ he says, his voice warm and quiet. June can’t feel the revulsion or the confusion he felt earlier now, but she still remembers the taste of it, spoilt at the back of her mouth.

 _Tony,_ she returns. She blinks her eyes and shifts closer until he raises his hand and obligingly rubs at her snout, bodies connected too.

 _I want to apologize,_ Tony says, immediately. His eyes are so bright in the darkness, comforting in the basest of ways. June feels like she’s in the dark-place again, barely hatched, nuzzling for the warmth of his ribs and seeking the sound of the song of his heart to lull her to sleep. _I didn’t know how to tell you what I was feeling, earlier. But I realize that that wasn’t right, to lock myself away without letting you know I wasn’t angry at you. Because I’m not, baby girl._

 _Okay,_ she says, allowing him to convince her.

 _I’m not,_ he repeats, because he knows she needs to hear it. He knows her as no others do, not even Loki. _I love you so much, baby girl—all of you. Your powers don’t scare me._

 _They scare me,_ June admits, feeling no older than a hatchling; she feels cowed by the breadth of his trust. What has she done to deserve it? _How can they not frighten you?_

_Because I know you, baby girl. Anyone else I’d be terrified. But you? You’ve never given me a reason to think you’ll do anything that should scare me._

_Why did you—_ June cuts off the cruel way she was going to phrase her question.

Tony finishes, _why did I act like a dick?_

_Not in so many words._

Amusement, sad and self-deserving, reaches June. She sends back some measure of comfort as he answers his own question, _I’ve been…dealing with Loki killing Maximoff for a while. I know she was really trying to hurt me, but it…I dunno. I don’t like killing people, Junebug. I don’t like the man—or the dragon—I love killing people either. But I didn’t realize how bad I would feel while I was trying to avoid that guilt._

Tony sighs, soothingly rubbing at June’s head when she inadvertently sends her some of the hurt she’s still feeling. His hands, small and nimble against her scales, make her feel young again; she wishes, briefly, she was small enough to curl up in his lap, small enough to hide her entire head in the crook of his neck.

_I got out of my head, thinking about how Pietro would feel without the memories of us, or of his sister dying, or…I dunno. I just kept thinking about how I would feel if I woke up tomorrow and couldn’t remember you or Loki, after you’d been murdered, and it…it fucked me up, baby girl. I have these memories of you dying in front of me that aren’t real—well, all but one—and the idea that that could have happened and I wouldn’t remember—_

Tony cuts himself off, shaking the terror of those visions free. _I know it was our best option, that Maximoff gets to live, that we’ll be safe, that he won’t get fucked up by SHIELD, but…it just doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like the heroic choice. I know we didn’t have any good choices. I’m not upset or disgusted with what you can do, baby girl, I’m really not. I’m upset with my own choices that led to you following through on that kind of decision._

He sighs, leans some of his weight onto her skull. He simplifies all his conflicting and churning thoughts into, _I’m just sorry I hurt you._

June lets her tongue flick from between her teeth, gently rasping against his crossed legs. _It did hurt when I felt that you were disgusted with my powers, but this is not why I am in pain. I do not understand your distinction, Tony. My powers and I—we are one. What difference does the decision to exercise my powers make, when my very being is composed of the powers themselves?_

Tony shrugs, but tries to explain again: _being something—having the capability to do something—isn’t the same as acting on it or making the choice to be that something._ Grumbling at his inability to make clear his point, he continues, _you have the power to take memories, June, and that’s who you are—but that doesn’t make the choice of using those powers on someone who didn’t ask for it okay._

 _Why?_ June asks again. Tony can feel her mind struggling to understand the difference, trying to grasp onto the thoughts he’s offering but it slips from her grasp like a loose marble. _The powers are me. If the powers, used as they are meant to be used, are not okay, then does that not also make me not okay? How can I be good, but my powers be evil?_

 _I never said that,_ Tony is quick to deny. _I never said you were evil, baby girl._

_No. But you were disgusted with what I could do. You thought it…revolting, that I would take someone’s memories. He would have died, otherwise—died this night or died fighting us another day. How does that make me…disgusting?_

_No, baby girl, no. That’s what I’m saying. You’re not any of that. Just because you have the power to do something, though, doesn’t mean it’s right to do it. Does that make sense? I could stroll into—fuck, Justin Hammer’s office tomorrow and kill that little shit for everything he’s done to me but that wouldn’t make it right. I have the power to hurt him but exercising that power would be wrong._

June shakes her head, smoke from her Stark belly of fire curling around her antlers. Her mind grows turmoiled, still, trying so desperately to understand. _That is where I grow confused. Your power and your choice are separate—your capacity to kill or hurt is separate from your being. Mine is not. My powers are my bones; they are the threads that make up my mind. There is no difference to me._

Okay, Tony gets what she’s saying, he does. But he can’t understand. Just like June knows what he’s saying, can parse its meaning, but can’t understand, either. They’re at a philosophical stalemate that tonight’s conversation is not going to solve. It sounds like June doesn’t compartmentalize the parts of her identity or her being like humans do—the way we play different roles in different situations, become different people depending on the other people that surround us. We’re cruel at work but kind at home; we’re a distant lover but an avid parent.

Tony is a dragon rider and an engineer. He’s a conduit of magic and a scientist. He’s a casual lay and a mind-bendingly intimate significant other.

The way June is talking, she doesn’t make those kinds of distinctions. She is who she is in every aspect all the time: she is her magic, she is her body, she is their bonded all at once all the time. Where he sees a gradient of color, she sees a single uniform shade.

Tony is going to have to come to terms with that. His distinctions of her actions—his understanding of what will happen to Maximoff will always be intrinsically different than hers. He’ll never be able to convince her to see it his way, and vice versa. There’s no way to change the way she sees the world with just his voice.

So, he makes the only choice he has left: he concedes.

_Okay, Junebug. You’ll always be my baby girl, no matter how big or powerful you get. I may not always understand what you can do, or why you choose to do it, but I will always love you. Without condition. I’m so sorry that my own reaction to what happened after a shitty situation hurt you, and I’ll try to be better from now on. Just know it’s not you, okay? It’s not you that made me feel that way. Forget everything I said if it confuses you, and just remember that._

_Okay,_ June replies, accepting but not understanding. This is the first time in their lives they have come to an impasse without resolution—the first time they have failed to meet halfway, to mutually comprehend what went wrong. June cannot fathom Tony’s reasoning or his reactions to what transpired, and Tony cannot fathom her powers or her nonhuman morality.

This is an obstacle they will never overcome. It will sit firmly between them, forever, a dam to be circumvented and accounted for but never bested.

June tries not to allow its new and alien existence to worry her, to darken her vision of their future. She feels Tony attempt the exact same thing.

*

Loki’s eyes narrow. “I do not believe we should separate.”

Tony replies, “Well, you don’t need me in Svartálfheim, right? June’s wings will get you to the top of the temple, and you’ve got the Iron Mage armor to get you down into the antechamber. In and out and then you’re back here before lunch.”

“It is not for our sake I am arguing,” Loki responds, dryly. “SHIELD may not respond kindly to our…meddling in Sokovia. They have proven themselves willing to take action against you and June, covertly—and you placing yourself willingly in their lair, alone, does not sit well with me.”

Although there’s a veneer of patronization gleaming on Loki’s words, Tony can feel the underlying worry; Tony being alone with Nick Fury genuinely concerns him. Not because Tony cannot protect himself, but because it is in Loki’s nature to keep an eye on the important people in his life.

It’s that visceral worry that makes Tony smile, comfortingly. He steps closer and takes Loki’s wrist, just holding it, a point of connection. “I hear you. But I can protect myself, and I just want to talk. It’s quid pro quo, and Fury respects that kind of thing—I can ask about the scepter and the dragon egg they took from the Nest, and I’ve got HYDRA to give them. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You thought the same at the gala the witch attacked you at,” Loki replies, derisively. He doesn’t pull away.

“That’s an outlier and shouldn’t be counted,” Tony replies, smiling. “I’ll wear the flyte suit under my clothes. It’ll be fine. By tonight, we’ll have another egg and we’ll know where the other egg that was with June is.”

Loki sighs, feeling the inevitability in Tony’s mind of this plan. He twists his hand in Tony’s and returns the grip. “Very well. We will not be able to communicate while June and I are on separate realms. But even with the time differences, we should be gone no longer than six hours.”

Tony grins. He leans up on the tips of his toes and presses a soft kiss to Loki’s subtly frowning mouth; when he pulls away, the frown has eased away.

*

 _Safe travels,_ Tony says to June. He admires the leather-armored Loki atop her back, locked into the saddle with the Iron Mage boots. Both the Iron Mage and the Iron Dragon armor are the latest designs, sleek and new. Loki’s horns gleam like June’s antlers.

 _Good fortune,_ June returns, lowering her head to press into him; he rubs her jaw, soothingly.

Tony waves as June takes off, streaking up into the New York sky and disappearing into a low-hanging cloud.

*

The rushing winds in Svartálfheim buffet June and Loki wildly before the dragon regains control, shaking off the stardust from Yggdrasil as she tilts into the currents.

There, Loki says, his mind directing her eyes towards their left, where a jagged, dark mountain spears above the rocky terrain; the rock is not so much dark as it is absorbing, like all light that reaches it is consumed. June tilts her wings and descends closer to the ground, escaping the furious winds’ pressure; Loki’s hair whip about his horned helmet.

The ground below them, as June soars above, is thick with ancient greenery that seems darkened and heavy by the oppressive black hole far above them that barely lights the realm. The ground, dark and black and volcanic, seems to call them, beckoning the light within June’s belly, the light that gleams from their magic, to descend and to lay within its soil and sleep.

Loki shakes his head, clears his mind of the siren’s call of the dark elves’ home. June, too, ignores the organic song. They approach the ancient dark temple on the cutting mountain, circling around its angled peak that nearly crests into the sulfur-yellow clouds.

 _The temple is far too difficult to scale for me to reach its center on foot,_ Loki explains as June steadily circles closer to the mountain; as they close in, they can see the dark temple carved directly into the rock, barely visible beneath the darkness of the daytime. _If you would be so kind as to get me close to the entrance, there, I can find the artifact within._

 _Be safe. This place may not be empty_ , June replies. Loki agrees and detaches from the saddle, careful while piloting the Iron Mage armor; he descends, jerkily, but with some semblance of control. Loki shivers as he enters the dark stone temple, sliding in through a hole within its ceiling. The temple, as much as Loki came to understand, was meant to be entirely hidden away at the top of the mountain, carved directly within the stone. Only pilgrims with the strength of character to climb the ten thousand or so steps up from the base of the mountain would be privileged enough to lay eyes upon the ancient artifact housed in the antechamber.

Of course, since dark elves have been dead for eons—not as long as dragons, but close—there would be no pilgrims left to reach this place. If their holy artifact is a dragon egg, they will not miss it. Loki had only learned of its existence through a wanderer’s tale in Alfheim, and his search for its location led him here during the final leg of his lone journey, however many months ago it was.

Loki lands, shivering still; his breath fogs in front of him, crystalized. He’s surprised how easily this place is able to chill him, considering his heritage, but it feels like an unnatural coldness, like the warmth of the air and of Loki’s body is being active wrung and consumed into the stone around him. There’s no light within this place, and even when Loki sparks a flame in his palm, the darkness seems to press in on it, barely allowing the halo of light to expand beyond Loki’s nose.

Making due with what he has, Loki creeps forward until he finds a wall, and follows it, mapping his progress through the chamber. He squeezes through a smallish tunnel, avoiding descending steps whenever he comes upon them. The darkness of this place—its unnatural coldness—makes his body shiver in phantom familiarity to the void, but he pushes through it until he stumbles, literally, into a pedestal.

His knee smarts from the impact to the stone; wincing, Loki lowers the flame in his hand to the rock before him, carved into the stone. Here, he sees two dead braziers carved into the stone above him; with a wave of his hand, his torch splits into two flames and descends into the basins, lighting them ablaze. The natural fire, once it burns upon the fuel remaining, brightens the room considerably.

Loki finds himself before an altar, carved into obsidian rock. Ancient runes surround him, curling into the altar and its edges. The ancient carvings of two serpentine dragons protect the edges, bodies entwined and writhing, the braziers their open maws. Within their talon grasp, a nested basin sits.

Within it a ruby-maroon egg lays, resplendent.

*

June feels the magic of the egg when Loki returns to her, face beaming.

 _They are alive_ , she says, joy lighting their connection. _They live, Loki. They live._

Loki cradles the wine egg to his chest, fingers caressing its fine, dusty marks. He practically matches June’s purring, pleasure and pride warming his chilled skin.

 _Anthony will be ecstatic,_ Loki says, unthinkingly. He regrets his careless words when the mention of her rider makes June grow quiet and contemplative. He knows that June and Anthony have spoken, but even Anthony’s mind is mournful when it comes to their relationship, how it has transformed, never to return to what it once was.

She rises above the forgotten temple and says, _yes, he will be._

Loki does not reply. He tears open the fabric of the realms to return to Midgard, and June flies to the space within which Yggdrasil lives, wings folded. She scurries along the branches before gliding between the shining rivulets of creation.

Vibrations run along the leaves of the World Tree. Loki frowns, reaches out; the whole tree trembles, bowing to weight he can barely comprehend. The source of this vibration is—what could shake these branches, so close to its roots? They are close to the base of the World Tree, with Svartálfheim hanging low upon its branches. No force should be capable of making it quiver, not here.

 _Asgard_ , June says, suddenly. She feels the trembling, too, hears the moaning of its soul, the creaking of its bark.

Loki’s mind turns to Asgard, where it perches high above them, barely visible. June is right—the Realm Eternal is quaking, lurching upon its gilded place, so high. Loki’s eyes widen as he realizes the manifestation he can comprehend of Asgard’s form here is breaking, splintering at the seams. The strings that connect it to the World Tree are snapping, one by one. It is not the physical Asgard, but the metaphysical form of its connection to magic, to the tree that gives it life. And it is falling.

 _Ragnarök_ , he whispers, terror spiking through him as he realizes what this means for them and the rest of the realms. _Odin is dead. Surtur comes. My brother will be there—_

 _We must go,_ June decides, and her wings tighten into her body as she spirals towards the realm that was once Loki’s home. Loki clings to her, the living red egg tucked into the padded saddlebags beside him.

 _Forgive me, Anthony,_ Loki says, knowing that his beloved cannot hear him. _Forgive me if I do not return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you feeling it mr krabs??
> 
> this chapter brought to you by a brief squidward cameo  
> also self-sacrificial love
> 
> thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed and see you next time, whenever that is :D


	10. Ragnarok on the Rocks, Extra Dirty, Stabbed Not Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to finish starting a family (...is that a thing? He just wants to find the other Realm Nest egg, dammit). Loki really wants to stop learning the dirty secrets about _his_ family, because honestly, a Jotun and the Goddess of Death in one set of siblings is, frankly, a little ridiculous. June also runs into some family, which is Weird considering they're all supposed to be extinct.

It turns out that Fury doesn’t keep a schedule on the SHIELD database that JARVIS has access to. Which, smart. Also, inconvenient. It also stands that Tony doesn’t want SHIELD to know that he has his AI so deep in their systems, so he can’t hack them to find Fury’s holograph call signature or anything that would get him in immediate contact with the Director—which also, again, is inconvenient.

So, Tony ends up tracking down Coulson, who’s in New York to meet with Pepper for some reason, Tony doesn’t really care. Coulson contacts Fury for him, which gives Tony enough cover to hack Coulson’s phone and pull its information into his own handheld; he pings Fury’s contact info once Pepper pulls Coulson off and it looks like he’s in Boston. A quick flight later, Tony’s propped up his feet on the desk Fury commandeered while he’s in town at the SHIELD base there, a little ways out of the city. Fury looks deeply unamused as he appears in the doorway, but he’s not cresting into anger quite yet; he barely glances at the autonomous suit standing next to the window.

“Hey there, Fury,” Tony says, allowing a shit-eating grin to easily pull across his face. He knows June altered some of Fury’s memories a while back about Wanda—which, okay, still kind of fucked up, but Tony is _not_ going to open that can of worms again—so he’s gonna play it careful on that front, just in case something’s rotten there.

“Stark,” he replies. “Why am I not surprised it’s you fucking with my shit. Hacking Agent Coulson’s phone? Tacky.”

“Well, seeing as the majority of SHIELD tech was designed and manufactured by Stark Industries, I’m actually fucking with my own shit, and that’s more masturbatory than tacky.”

Fury glowers, more annoyed by the reminder than he is by Tony’s crude answer. “What do you want.”

Now, here’s where Tony’s schmoozing skills come into play. Xavier, he’s someone he doesn’t even bother with the trick; Fury, though? He expects a certain character from Tony: the playboy, the grown-up kid that doesn’t give a shit, the barely-reformed weapons manufacturer, the arrogant dragon rider. So that’s what Tony will give him—he can play hardball if he wants to.

He grins, spreads his hands; he owns the desk he sits behind, taking up Fury’s place and happily chewing on the power Fury would have held if he’d been in Tony’s place. “What, I can’t just drop in and see one of my top ten favorite super-spies? Unfortunately, you’re not top five yet, but we can change that today, if you’re up for it—”

“Shut the fuck up, Stark, and get out of my chair.”

Tony laughs and deliberately doesn’t move. “Someone’s having a bad day. Look, buddy, you did me a solid with Howard’s research,” while tapping his chest, the arc reactor not quite visible through his dress shirt; the flyte suit isn’t, either. "I’m just here to return the favor. I just happened to be in Sokovia the other day, and I stumbled on something you might—find—interesting.”

On each pause, he taps his temple, letting Fury know that what he’s found is information, and it’s not written down. Fury looks like he’s two inches from rolling his eyes, but he’s playing along still, arms crossed and feet itching to tap.

“We know you were in Sokovia, Stark,” Fury replies. “Your dragon isn’t inconspicuous.”

“Ah-ha!” Tony laughs, humorlessly. “Too true. But before I let you know what I found there—” here, Fury does something with his face that Tony reads as expectations-becoming-reality, like the guy had been waiting for the punchline before Tony even started telling the joke. “—I wanted to ask you about a little teeny thing. For June.”

Odd. Both Fury’s expression and his stance don’t change, but Tony suddenly gets the impression from him that he’s paying a lot closer attention to Tony than he was two minutes before. “What does _she_ want, then?”

Since when has Tony been able to read Fury? The guy’s been indecipherable since the first time they met and every time after. Tony knows Fury’s type, sure—having plans under plans under plans, hey, sound familiar?—but he’s never been able to _read_ him, has never learned the language that Fury’s body speaks.

Loki is like Fury, in that way: before they connected, Loki was like glass to him. He was slippery and shiny and only showed you what you gave him: he reflected the emotions you threw at him and never expressed something from within himself. Fury, though, he was stone: he was tangible and unmalleable, ever present but totally unmovable. Tony could pound his fists against Fury’s chest all he wanted and he would only end up with broken hands.

Now, instead of a marble statue, Fury’s like one of those street performers—the silver-gold-bronze actors that stand on podiums and hold themselves still; they’re fantastic at a glance but if you look at them for long enough from the corner of your eye you can see their breathing chests or a tired twinge in their jaw. Fury, all at once, isn’t impossible to read. He’s…manageable. Tony’s getting feedback from every word and every action like never before, and it’s making this conversation much more beneficial than he ever expected.

Why the _fuck_ can he do it, though? He’s not any smarter or empathic, and it’s not like Fury got any less spy-ish in the however long since they’ve met. It’s a question for another time, though. But he can tell, now, from whatever _did_ change, that Fury is wary of what June wants, probably because he can’t get a read on her—or didn’t know until recently that he had to.

“Well, you know, dragons are…covetous,” Tony starts, letting his antagonistic smile curl at the edges into something a little softer. “And June’s been pestering me for siblings for years now. ‘I want a sister, I want a brother,’ blah blah blah. And me being the provider that I am, well, I’ve got to do it, you know? She wants to hoard them, so I’ve been on the market for some dragon eggs. Hard to find, you know that? But not impossible.”

Interesting—Fury’s shoulders do something that makes Tony think he’s kind of relieved. An expression that could be named ‘Oh-that’s-all-you-want.’

"And you’ve come to me because?”

“Well, I looked back a little to see if I could find where June’s egg was laid, to see if she has any actual siblings—and wow, surprise, she did! Except both her and the egg with her were stolen from her nest.” Tony pauses, really hones in on Fury. “And seeing as one already turned up, I just _had_ to come in and ask you: where’s the other one?”

Fury tilts his head, plays stupid unconvincingly. “The other?”

“The other egg, Fury. Where is it?”

Tony can visibly see Fury make the decision to lie. “We never had the eggs, Stark. The offspring of an extinct race of animals was never at the top of our priorities.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony leans back further into Fury’s chair, rubs at his chin with faux-thoughtfulness before he says, “that’s so weird.” And then, with the tone of a non-sequitur: “did you know that June remembers the time when she was in her egg? Before she hatched.”

Oh-ho, that did something. Fury’s eyes narrow ever-so that lets Tony know he’s realized he’s going to get caught in a trap but can’t let up until he _knows_ he’s trapped for certain.

“Yup,” Tony continues, lying through his teeth with a blithe voice that hides its untruthful edges, “not all of it, of course, but she remembers everyone that touched her egg. Weird, right? And she told me that she didn’t feel anyone near her for a long time, but like recently there were a _bunch_ of people that were grabbing at her. Which, gross, she wasn’t even born. But it was a spike that made me think, huh, what shadow organization do I know that would poke and prod at a dragon egg and then be stupid enough to lose it? Also, one that just happened to once upon a time have in their employ a handful of agents with degrees in mythic biology that June finds oddly familiar?”

Fury doesn’t catch any of the lies. Of all the things that have happened in this conversation, that might be the weirdest thing so far.

“So, look, Fury. Just tell me where the egg is. I know you had June’s and I know you still have the other one. Brown with burgundy spots, right?” Tony doesn’t know Fury does have the egg for _certain_ , but the connections between the file on Vohra’s friend and their general interest in June has them as the first and only suspect, so. He’s rarely wrong when it comes to this kind of thing either.

Sighing, Fury unwinds his arms from behind his back, and Tony feels the truth of him when he says, “we don’t have the egg anymore.”

“Why.”

“It’s dead, Stark.” And then, still with some honesty, “I’m…sorry, for your loss.”

“How did it die?”

“I don’t know,” Fury replies. He looks away, out the window; Tony reads some guilt, but the distant kind, like he’s sorry he never had the chance to use the egg has a bargaining chip in this conversation or a dozen others like it. “It was stable for twenty odd years, and then one day it just…wasn’t. Like it fell asleep.”

“Fuck,” Tony says without meaning to. “You’re telling the truth.”

Fury glares at him briefly, but it softens, just slightly.

Tony swears again, settles back. “I really thought we could find her sibling.”

As he says it, he knows Fury will make the assumption that Tony was only just looking for a sibling for June, for some desperate reach at a family. He’ll settle into that knowledge and not look further—well, not too much further, at least enough to keep Vohra safe. Also, he won’t reopen that Nest in Namibia looking for more eggs if he thinks Tony was only interested in the one that was next to June.

Really, for as smart as everyone knows Tony is, everyone tends to really underestimate his depth.

Tony shakes his head and moves into safer territory. “Look, I found out that Loki’s scepter was nearby when I was in Sokovia. Mind letting me in for some one-on-one time? Loki’s given me some pointers on what it can do, and I have some _sweet_ ideas.”

Fury’s face closes off, but not without a twinge of annoyance curling at the muscle near his temple. “The last time we let you near that scepter your dragon fucked off and stole our prisoner right out from under us, _along with_ the tesseract.”

So he’s straight avoiding the topic that they lost the scepter. Means they don’t know about Pietro’s involvement with HYDRA or that organization’s presence in stealing SHIELD’s stuff.

“So that’s a maybe?”

“Get out of my office, Stark.”

Tony laughs and bounds up to his feet, skirting the desk. Where Pepper legitimately frightens him into getting out of her office, Fury just amuses him, especially since he’s apparently an open book to Tony right now. “Don’t you want to know what I found out in Sokovia?”

“I’m sure it’s not something I don’t know already,” Fury replies, waving him away. His attention is moving away from Tony which, frankly, is unacceptable.

“Sure, sure,” Tony replies, nodding sagely. He waves his hand and says, “I’m sure it wasn’t important, anyways. It was something about…something with an H? Hannah…Hydrangeas…” Tony snaps his finger and exclaims, “HYDRA! That’s it.”

Fury goes very, very still. “What did you say?”

“Yeah, you know, I visited a friend of mine, and they just happened to have a file straight from SHIELD’s database! That’s weird, right? But June plucked that name right outta this guy’s head, and man, surprising, right? HYDRA just popping outta nowhere with access to SHIELD files.” Tony grins, waves over his shoulder as he steps into his suit, its edges curling around him. “Just thought you might want to know. Since you were so forthcoming.”

“Stark!”

Tony laughs, and he steps out of the open balcony door and shoots away.

*

“J,” Tony calls, once he finishes a schematic for Iron Mage he thought of on the flight back home from Boston, its improved magic integration exceeding even his predictions. Next to him, the mineral water incubator hums, the two eggs optimistically moved to the side in preparation for another. “How long until June and Loki are due back?”

“They are approximately forty minutes over Loki’s six-hour estimate, sir.”

Tony blinks. “They’re late?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck,” he says.

**

Overall, this day has not been the best for Thor.

While he had managed to hold his own against Hela long enough to distract her as to allow the citizens of Asgard to retreat to the Bifrost, she has him pinned, now, arms splayed and one eye burning with pain, her knives piercing the meat of his back. The people below are trapped between Fenrir and Hela’s forces; the Valkyrie is trapped in a defunct spaceship at the far end of the bridge.

And Thor cannot defeat her. He is strong, but she is stronger, and there is no stopping her.

A great, reverberating roar echoes across the vast ocean and rings up through the palace stone. Thor raises his head and sees, through the sinking and eddying fog, the streaking yellow-gold of a dragon’s diving body. The Dragon of Stark has grown since Thor last saw her—she is longer, bulkier, fiercer in every sense; her body gleams with armor like Stark’s as she flies across the bridge and looses a torrent of white fire upon the forces near Fenrir.

And Thor can see, upon her back, that his brother sits in her saddle, his horns visible even from this great distance. He can feel the crack of his magic, so familiar and—oh, is it a feeling to behold!

A spaceship from Sakaar appears through the fog, a hulking cargo ship with space for every Asgardian, and Thor is invigorated. Hela strikes him again, but he can feel the distant beating of power within his breast, and his father’s voice beckons him.

*

June lands upon the rainbow bridge, and Loki leaps from her saddle.

 _I will kill the wolf,_ June says, her mind thrumming with the thrill of battle and the worry for both her bonded. _Be safe._

 _Good hunting,_ Loki replies, grinning. He summons his daggers, raises his arms in preparation to receive great praise, and cries, “your savior is here!”

His yell attracts the attention of the dark-world minions, and he strikes them down with both blade and magic; at his back, June takes flight and catches the world-eating wolf before it reaches the Asgardians. Loki can feel her battle as easily as he feels his own; he senses its rhythm, how it curls and turns between the two great beasts. Fenrir is stronger, but June has her wings, and a wolf is but a pup when lifted from its feet.

High above on the palace, thunder clouds form, and a great blast of lightning strikes down. Loki finds himself grinning as he ducks beneath a strike and cuts the enemy down from below. With his and June’s aid, along with the approaching space-farers, they force back the minions from the citizens as they retreat into the great hulking ship. Thor meets them halfway, his body sparking with blue electricity.

And, oh. He’s much different than Loki remembers—hair shorn, armor ragged, eye missing. He looks…older, too, despite only two short years passing.

“Loki!” Thor beams. Behind him, June’s roar echoes and pain briefly lances through Loki’s mind, as the wolf’s teeth pierce her leg and he drags her beneath the waves; rage spikes through her as she bursts free from the water and tosses Fenrir over the edge.

“Brother,” Loki returns, allowing a smile to form. He glances around, and then asks with a gesture to everything, “care to fill me in?”

“Oh, well, our sister is Hela, the Goddess of Death, and she managed to banish me to this horrible planet called Sakaar before I fought my way to freedom. I found the last Valkyrie there—there she is!—and we’ve journeyed back here to defeat her and save all of Asgard.” He pauses. “It’s a little harder than expected.”

Loki nods as if this is all not news to him. Odin having other bastard children does not surprise him, but the last Valkyrie makes his heart beat a touch faster. “And your hammer?”

“Oh, she destroyed that ages ago. Crushed it in her hand, can you believe it?”

“Hardly,” Loki says in a tone that implies he’s being sarcastic, but the idea of a Goddess of Death—wasn’t her image inlaid in one of the murals in the throne room?—destroying Mjolnir is…not a comforting one, especially now that he can see a dark, spiked form approaching them, unhurt.

“And you, brother? How fares your life on Midgard?” Thor seems a little too unconcerned despite the approaching goddess.

“Well, I’m a dragon rider of old,” Loki says, thoughtfully, and lets the Iron Mage armor retract to show off his mark. He laughs at the sight of the Valkyrie’s eyes widening and then tracking the dragon’s position in the sky.

June says, _you are as much of a braggart as Tony._

“Of course you are,” Thor replies, good naturedly.

“Very well,” Loki says, as the Valkyrie finally approaches on his side, preparing to fight. “I trust you two have more experience with our sister. What is your plan, brother?”

Thor looks to Hela’s approach, and shakes his head. “We cannot defeat her. But…” His face hardens. “Asgard is a people, not a place. If we cannot defeat her, there is someone who can.”

“I do hope you don’t mean June,” Loki says, as the dragon lands behind them and shakes the water from her body with great, dog-like shakes. Her ears prick at the sound of her name.

“No. Surtur.”

“Is he not already unleashed? I felt the trembling of the Realm in Yggdrasil and I thought it was his footsteps.”

“His crown resides in the vault, brother.” Thor turns to him, one eye gleaming. Loki is struck with his brother’s aura: he has never more than now looked like a king. Whatever has occurred between the last time they were together—Thor releasing his wrists, eyes sad—and now has changed him for the better. He is no longer a battle-hungry child eager for glory. He is the rightful King of Asgard.

 _The King is dead,_ June says as Loki’s thoughts churn, an echo of his prayer when Odin died. _Long live the King._

“Go to the vault, Loki, and unleash him,” Thor orders. “It will destroy Asgard and stop her power from growing, and Asgard will survive.”

Loki’s back straightens. He does not know the extent of Hela’s powers—has been away from both Thor and Asgard for too long—but he has made some semblance of peace with his past and Thor; he does not need to question Thor’s authority, not now. And it is a rather ingenious plan. “A bold move,” he grins. He turns on his heel and repulses up to June, and she twists her body so he lands firmly on her saddle. She takes flight a moment later, coiling around the still hovering spacecraft and darting towards the palace.

 _We came to prevent Ragnarok,_ June says as the palace, battle-wrecked, looms closer. _And now we seek to start it?_

 _These things tend to happen around my brother,_ Loki replies.

June turns hard, and Loki flings himself from the saddle to land on an open balcony; as she spirals away, back towards the battle, she says, _call for me and I will come. We must leave before this realm dies; for all of Tony’s work, my armor does not give me breath in space._

*

Loki sprints down into the vault ad finds Surtur’s crown upon the pedestal that once held the Casket of Ancient Winters. He lifts it by the horns and turns towards the Eternal Flame, only to come face to face with the tesseract.

Loki blinks. June’s mind is distant from his, focused intently on the battle with Hela and thinning down her army. She has not sensed Loki’s presence to the Space Stone.

Thoughts race through his mind, carefully shielded now from June. Losing the tesseract to the void would be the perfect way to prevent Thanos from retrieving it for at least a handful of decades. But Loki has the suspicion they and Thanos will come to blows long before that, and there would be no better bargaining chip—no better insurance of Anthony and June’s life—than to have what Thanos covets in Loki’s possession.

And none would need to know that Loki found it. A perfect little safety net in the event of the worst.

Loki shakes his head, and holds one hands above the tesseract; with a single spell, it folds away into a pocket dimension he keeps for all his priceless things. With the Infinity Stone safe from the inevitable destruction of his once-home, Loki turns to the Eternal Flame and places the crown within its heat.

“And so, you are reborn,” he says, and takes flight, darting away from the birthplace of the killer of Asgard.

*

June turns to her side midflight so Loki can fly into the saddle, locking himself in.

 _It is done,_ Loki says. June spirals towards Hela, Valkyrie, and Thor, and with the aid of Loki’s magic, propels her fire down in sharp blasts to distract Hela from the others. With her attention—and spears—directed towards June and Loki, Thor delivers a magnificent blow from behind that sends her and a portion of the bridge plummeting into the water below.

 _You ought to speak to him, before we flee,_ June says, and lands next to the winded pair.

Loki frowns. Thor makes the decision for him by waving and calling up to him, “will you and the Dragon of Stark join us?”

Loki considers it, for a moment: making peace with his brother, finding his mother among the refugees, helping them find a new home. But for the peace he has found, it was not in that he accepts them as his family and Asgard as his home—no, it is that while he is their brother and son, his true place is with June and Anthony. Asgard was once where he laid his head to sleep, but no longer.

Asgard does not need Loki Odinson; Jotunheim does not need Loki Laufeyson. Midgard, however, needs Loki, bonded of June, beloved of Anthony. And that is where he will go.

“No,” he says. He does not rejoice at the passing flash of both sadness-indifference that crosses Thor’s face. “I will find you, when you set down Asgard’s new roots.”

“Very well, brother. Thank you.”

Loki smiles. June lifts her head and blows a deliberate plume of smoke around the two Asgardians below her. He glances up towards the retreating spaceship, with all of Asgard upon it, and asks, “do you two need a ride?”

*

Tony almost trips over his own feet when he feels his connection with June and Loki blossom open, indicative of their return from the other realms. He almost decides to run up the stairs from the workshop to the penthouse suite, but it’s almost ten floors, and Tony isn’t that fast. His body feels like its twitching out of its skin as he waits for the elevator to reach the top floor.

 _Where were you two!_ He yells down the connection, as though from the top of a ravine. _It’s two in the morning, you’re so fucking late, where were you? Are you okay? What happened?_

 _Asgard,_ Loki replies. As Tony stumbles out of the elevator and towards the curtain wall, he tries to spot June’s body in the night sky, but either they’re too far away or hidden in cloud cover. All at once, memories bombard him: fingers that aren’t his alight with fire; finding a living egg, a metaphysical tree trembling; Asgard on fire; a dark-bodied woman’s bloody hands; some massive fire demon razing Asgard’s golden streets; Thor’s kingly and bloodstained face; Fenrir’s snapping teeth.

 _Oh, shit,_ Tony says.

 _I am sorry,_ Loki says. Tony’s eyes turn and latch onto a yellow gleam in the clouds, just cresting into the city limits; it feels like Loki’s mind drew his gaze there. _I could not stand by and watch Asgard die. My brother…_

_Just get down here so I can see you guys. Fuck, fuck, missed you guys, love you both._

It takes ten minutes for June to reach the tower, and when she lands, it’s with a limp.

“Baby girl?”

 _I am okay, Tony. A minor thing._ A memory of throwing a massive, howling wolf over a waterfall’s edge blooms before his eyes; its tinged with pride. Loki falls from the saddle, and Tony envelops him in a crushing hug, holding the back of his neck as their bodies connect. Loki returns the embrace immediately, lowering his nose to the crown of Tony’s head, fingers digging into his skin.

_Thank god you’re okay._

Loki returns the general sentiment. He holds on for another moment longer, clinging to him, and lets Tony go reluctantly so they can turn to June’s injury.

 _Loki, can you go get her med kit?_ Loki knows where it is, but Tony sends him an image of what he needs anyway. _Baby girl, let’s get you off that leg._

*

Loki is readjusting June’s saddle—manually, since she’s laying down to allow Tony to close her wounds with serums they both created to accelerate her healing—when he feels a drum beat thud through his chest and ring through his mind. He blinks and rubs at his sternum, wondering.

He hearsfeels the beat again, louder this time.

“Loki?”

Suddenly, Loki’s vision darkens and he feels himself pulled through a tunnel, light at the distance becoming closer and clearer; the drums of ancient magic rattle his bones and his vision tightens with each beat. His mind stretches like elastic, distant from his body. He can barely feel himself, let alone his bonded.

He sees Heimdall, his golden eyes piercing his across a great expanse of space.

“My Prince,” Heimdall says, and there is blood between his teeth. Loki can see nothing but his body, laying prostrate on metal ground. “See…”

It is a command. Loki blinks and his vision shifts once more, now Heimdall’s sight; he is staring around the bleeding and dying bodies of the refugees they just fought to save, horrifyingly familiar figures stepping amongst the carnage.

The Children of Thanos. _No._ Loki spent little time with them, but those little spots of time were some of the worst.

“They found us so soon,” Heimdall says, his voice ancient and ringing in Loki’s ears. “He comes…”

And there he stands. The Mad Titan, Thanos—his body encased in golden armor. His purple skin catches on the light of fires and distant burning stars. HeimdallLoki watches as Thor rises to meet him again, but he is bloody and tired and already overwhelmed; Thanos clenches a golden fist and strikes Thor down. Purple energy pulses and then Thor is bound in metal restraints, trapped in the ship that was once his salvation.

HeimdallLoki sees Thanos’ fist. It turns towards their vision, and—and—

There are four stones, gleaming and bright, on the golden gauntlet. Yellow, orange, red, and purple glinting gems.

 _No,_ Loki says. _No. No._

“It is not too late,” Heimdall says to Loki. “We will die here, but you can save us.”

Thanos, as he steps over Thor, turns. His movement is deliberate and slow, and his eyes meet theirs. As they watch, Thanos reaches up and sheds his armor—first his breastplate, then his helmet. Loki can feel the strength of his bones even from their distance, can see how Thanos transforms from a tyrant to a holy warrior before their eyes.

“There you are, Loki,” Thanos says. Loki’s heart, in his throat and millions of miles away, stutters with fear. Thanos should not have been able to know it was Loki peering through Heimdall’s eyes, and yet. One being should not be able to wield four Infinity Stones without turning to ash, and yet.

“I was hoping you would be here, with your people,” Thanos continues, calm and even. “It is no matter. You know why I came here. Will you watch me from your dragonling’s nest as I kill your people looking for what’s mine?”

Loki almost pulls away, but Heimdall’s grip on his magic-mind-vision does not yield. After a moment, Loki tightens his jaw and steels himself, pressing forward to take control of a mouth that is not his.

“Do whatever you like to them,” he sneers in Heimdall’s mouth. “We do not have what you seek. You waste your time chasing fairy-lights.”

“I don’t think so,” Thanos says, and he opens his gauntlet and closes his hand over Thor’s head. “I think this is just where I need to be.”

“There is nothing on that ship that means anything to me,” and Heimdall’s mouth tastes the lie.

“Loki,” Thor says, and HeimdallLoki’s eyes flick to him, only briefly; it has barely been a handful of hours, and yet the kingly presence that saved Asgard is now beaten and bruised within Thanos’ fist. “Don’t.”

“Oh, Loki,” Thanos sighs, and squeezes.

It takes only the greatest of pain to make Thor scream. His ringing voice burns HeimdallLoki’s ears, and Loki’s will breaks quicker than a thread.

“All right, stop! Stop!”

Thanos stops.

“I can’t very well give it to you while I’m borrowing Heimdall’s eyes,” Loki grits out. He ignores Thor’s weak demand to stop.

Thanos smiles, a cruel and merciful thing. “I know. Travel to Titan, Loki. I will meet you and your allies there. And by the time you are done throwing yourselves at me, I will have everything I need.”

Loki swallows and fear thrums through him, but Heimdall is calm despite the certainty of death. “Why?” he asks, trembling before the memories of his torture and the void, but Heimdall’s body does not know the pain; it is easy to ignore it when his mind resides in the body of another.

“Why?” Thanos tilts his head and drops Thor back into his bindings. His brother’s head hangs, bruises forming along his temples. Thanos approaches, stepping down from the dais and towards Heimdall’s body. “Someone has to save the Universe, Loki. I have the will to make the decision no one else can.”

“Please,” Loki spits, and for a second, it feels as though he really is there, standing once more before Thanos’ might, and for that second he is sure he is going to die. That Thanos is going to reach out and pluck Loki’s body from the ground and snap his neck like a twig; that he will harvest Loki’s soul from his body and send it spiraling to Valhalla.

But the second passes, and Loki knows that he is the only person on this ship who is not going to die. “You covet power. Delude yourself that you are saving us all you like, but the truth remains: you are nothing but a tyrant.”

“You are such a fearful little thing, Loki, spitting and growling until someone cuffs you upside the head. Would you stand so easily against me if you were here? I don’t think you have it in you.”

Loki snarls. “I am a god. You will _never_ be.”

Thanos smiles. He lifts his golden fist and closes it. Power snaps-slices-rings-cuts through them, and Heimdall’s body dies just as he casts Loki back, mind disintegrating even still as he says, _go forth and earn your birthright, Loki. Save those who cannot fight._

*

“Fuck, Loki, come on! Shit, I don’t know if this is a seizure or not, June! Just keep him on his side—oh, fuck, he’s coming back, he’s back—Loki? Loki, can you hear me?”

Tony puts his hand to Loki’s cold cheek, leaning down to get a good look at his face. He’s been twitching and distant-eyed for over a minute now, his whole body tense and his mind so distant they can barely feel him at all. Now, his mind snaps back, but he’s so rattled and his mind is screaming with fear that Tony instinctively closes their connection from his side to protect his own sanity.

Loki’s hand snaps to Tony’s arm, and squeezes. His grip is so tight that Tony actually yelps, holding onto Loki’s arm in return as the god quickly turns to his side and promptly vomits up bile and—oh _fuck,_ that’s blood.

“Shit, shit,” Tony says, using his one non-crushed arm and hand to pull back Loki’s hair so he can vomit in peace. “June, are you _sure_ he didn’t get hurt on Asgard? This _really_ seems like he got hurt!”

 _No, no blows struck him,_ June replies, worriedly. Her wing unfolds and envelops them, blotting out the too-bright lights and cocooning them in warmth. _This is something else._

“Loki, come on, babe, that’s it—” he rambles on as Loki spits up a final burst of acid and coughs the rest out; he moans, distantly, eyes pinched shut. Tony tentatively opens their connection again, and Loki’s mind is more closed off than before, but he’s not screaming. His mind is writhing with fear-pain-fury and nearly snaps at Tony’s until he seems to recognize them.

“Anthony?”

“Hey, yeah, it’s just us, just me. There you go, you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re at home.”

“Home,” Loki repeats, weakly; he’s broken out in a cold sweat and there’s a string of bile that’s clinging to his lip, tinged with blood; Tony reaches out and wipes it away without thinking about how gross it is.

“Yeah, home,” Tony repeats. Loki’s mind spikes and thrums with fear again before he takes a deep, shuddering breath in and forcibly calms down. “There you go. It’s okay. Are you okay? What happened there, babe?”

“Thanos,” Loki weakly replies, eyes still shut; he drops his brow to his forearm, where it rests on the ground, the only part of him that’s keeping him semi-upright; his other arm is holding onto Tony’s bicep still, shivering. He’s twisted up on the ground, shoulders perpendicular to the floor as he struggles to breathe. “Heimdall, he saw—he made me see—he’s there, Anthony, by the nine, please—”

“Shh, stop, stop, give yourself a minute to breathe,” Tony replies, rubbing his free hand in circles between Loki’s shoulder blades; he leans down and presses a firm kiss to the temple he can reach. His heart is beating faster at the mention of Loki’s torturer, but he keeps his mind calm as an anchor to Loki’s storm-buffeted mind. “Breathe, Loki, breathe.”

Loki breathes. His arms tremble as he lifts himself from the ground, away from the pool of bloody puke near him, and lifts his body into Tony’s arms. Tony obligingly closes his arms around him, letting Loki fold his taller body around him, nose tucked into Tony’s neck and hands clinging to his shirt. Tony can feel the minute trembling that shivers down through his entire body, and can feel, as Loki listens to the hum of the arc reactor and feels his pulse, how they slow as the moments pass.

With his face hidden in Tony’s shoulder, Loki says, slower this time, “Thanos comes. He found Thor and killed—he killed them all. Heimdall brought me to see, and I—I spoke with him. He—Tony, he has four.”

Tony’s heart beat is suddenly much louder in his ears, almost making him jump with the sudden feeling of pressure against the reactor and his eardrums. He’s sure Loki can feel it and the tension that tightens every muscle in his body. “Four?”

“Four Infinity Stones. He has four. I saw them. He has them, he—he uses them, wields them on his fist. Anthony…”

Tony tightens his arms and rubs his hand in a stronger circle than before as Loki’s voice cuts out. “Okay. That’s fucked, but we can deal with that. We can still go after him, it’s only one more than our limit, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Loki says, “he told me to bring my allies and fight him on a planet called Titan. That he would wait for us and give us the chance to stop him. He knows we will fail and then no one will have the power or the preparation to stop him.”

Tony, inexplicably, feels like Loki is lying to him.

“Okay,” Tony says, and doesn’t pull away. Whatever game he’s is playing, Tony will let him; Loki’s like him, in that respect—plans under plans under plans, and Tony knows he needs to let Loki have his. “Okay. Then we go to him. And we fuck his shit up so hard he won’t even know what hit him.”

Loki almost laughs, but its humorless; it’s closer to a tired exhalation than a chuckle. “We will die, Anthony. If we go there we will die.”

“A, no we won’t,” Tony replies, digging his fingers into Loki’s back to drive the point home, “And B, we have to go there even though it’s fucking scary like that. We’re all that’s standing in his way. I don’t care what he wants to do with the stones, it’s gonna be fucked no matter what it is and we have to stop him.”

“Or die trying,” Loki whispers.

Tony doesn’t reply. June’s head snakes beneath her own wing, like a bird falling asleep, and settles in next to them.

They stay like that for a minute, then two; they breathe each other’s air, feel the warmth of the others’ skin. But soon Loki’s mind solidifies from its brush with terror and his body pulls away; his hands cup Tony’s jaw and hold him still, and he just looks at him, like he’s memorizing the lines and edges of Tony’s face. Tony’s never seen him so melancholy, so certain of loss.

“We must go,” Loki agrees, softly. He leans in and presses a soft, sad kiss to his lips, lingering there like the next time they part will be the last. He pulls away. “I am owed my revenge.”

“Your revenge, my revenge,” Tony agrees, quiet. He puts his hand in Loki’s hair and threads his fingers through it, feeling its edges and the back of his skull. “We can do this, Loki. We can. We’ve been planning for this for almost three years. If anyone has a chance, it’s us. And we’re all _highly_ motivated.”

“Yes,” Loki agrees, darker, harder. His eyes have been forged from iron, still red-hot from the flames. “Yes, we are.”

*

“Okay, JARVIS,” Tony says, “activate the Final Destination protocol.”

Three sets of armors rise from the storage vault beneath Tony’s lab. One is the newest Iron Man—Mark XLVII, autonomous capabilities, extra firepower, space-faring—the other is the latest Iron Mage—Mark XXIX, breastplate expanded to a full chest piece, a horned helmet, enchanted with protection and extra reserves of magic—and the last is Iron Dragon—Mark XXXII, similarly enchanted as Iron Mage, lightweight but strong enough to deflect blasts up to grenade strength, stretching from snout to talon to tail.

All three armors have their own arc reactors, gleaming in the center of their chests. These arc reactors are covered with three identical disks of adamantine, onto which Loki has anchored spells of protection and power. A little golden armor for the source of the suits’ powers, so they’ll never be struck down by a lucky central blow.

Tony steps into his suit and allows it to close around him. “J, pack the saddlebags with the Mark forty-eight.”

“Mark forty-eight has not been tested, sir. Are you sure?”

“Do it. We might need backup and forty-eight is the most lightweight.”

“Yes, sir. Mark forty-eight is installed in the saddlebags of the long-distance saddle.”

Tony rolls his shoulders and runs a swift diagnostic through the suit, just in case. “Okay. Now for backup. Of the almost-Avengers team, who’s within forty minutes of Stark Tower?”

“Captain Rogers, sir.”

“ _Just_ Cap?” Tony repeats, spluttering. “Where is everyone else?”

“Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton are overseas; Dr. Banner is in California at a SHIELD base; Mr. Odinson is MIA, presumably deceased.”

“Shit,” Tony hisses. Of all the times for the superhero team that was _meant_ to fight this kind of shit to be scattered in the wind…“Fine. Get Cap on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

The phone rings for a disconcertingly long time before Rogers’ voice echoes in the suit, somewhat confused: “Hello?”

“Rogers,” Tony says, somewhat curtly, “Tony Stark. We’ve got a situation. Suit up and get to Stark Tower ASAP.”

And it’s to his credit that Steve Rogers barely hesitates. “Understood. 20 minutes.”

*

June says, _I have found the Time Keeper. He will join us on Titan._

 _The Time Keeper?_ Loki repeats, even as Tony says, _you found the time stone?_

 _Yes._ Before June can continue, a sparking yellow circle appears between Loki and Tony, where they’re discussing some of the suspected powers of the four stones Loki saw on Thanos’ fist. Tony blinks as a tall, vaguely-almost familiar guy steps out of the…portal? wearing an honest-to-God cape.

 _I think he’s here,_ Tony says, and sends an image of the guy to June. She replies, _yes, that’s him. The austere one._

“Uh, hi,” Tony says. He eyes the amulet around the guy’s neck and asks, “you have an Infinity Stone in there or are you just happy to see me?”

“Funny,” the guy replies with no tone of humor whatsoever. “Dr. Steven Strange.”

Strange? Fuck, that’s ringing a very distant bell—the kind that means they probably met when Tony was drunk, younger than twenty, or both. “We met before?”

“Once or twice, but I doubt your dragon summoned me so we could catch up, Mr. Stark.”

“You know of the Stones?” Loki cuts in. His general demeanor hasn’t softened since Tony had U clean up the unfortunate side effect of being pulled across time and space and witnessing two hundred or so people die.

“Yes, indeed.” He gestures to his chest, to the amulet. “I understand that Thanos is an imminent threat upon the Universe. I will help you stop him.” His handsome face hardens. “But under no circumstances will I allow Thanos to get the Time Stone. I don’t care who has to die to prevent that outcome.”

“Chipper,” Tony remarks, dryly. “Cool, now that we’re all on the same page, we’re waiting on one more before we can get to Titan.”

“I’m assuming you have a plan to travel off world?” Strange asks, approaching their workspace. Loki’s sketched out a handful of diagrams of the gauntlet he saw Thanos wearing.

“I can get us to Yggdrasil,” Loki says, a non-answer. “However, the void stretches between the nine…eight realms and where Titan resides. I cannot get us across this space.”

Tony reaches out and grasps Loki’s wrist without thinking. Loki doesn’t tense, but he doesn’t reciprocate.

 _I can,_ June says, and Tony sees Strange reach up and pull at his earlobe; probably means June reached out and spoke to him, too. _The ancestor gave me numerous memories of traversing the void._

“Is this void different than outer space? If not, I do not think I would be capable of making the trip. I don’t own a spacesuit,” Strange says, a beat too late—still adjusting to June’s mind touching his.

“Yes,” Loki replies, and he says it with a great release of breath. His wrist turns in Tony’s hand and clasps his in return, his mind seeking a small touch of comfort. The way Loki’s glass shields lower, inch by inch, makes it feel like he’s making a great concession in allowing Tony to support him. “Outer space, as you know it, is merely a physical vacuum—magic and other noncorporeal powers exists there. The void is a metaphysical plane that surrounds Yggdrasil; it is, in all its essence, nothing.”

 _The dragons of old had ways of navigating in the void,_ June reveals. _The ancestor’s memories have taught me those ways. Once we are close to Yggdrasil, I can get us to Titan._

“One problem solved,” Tony says, trying to be a source of optimism; between Loki’s fear-shelled mind and June’s silence, he’s really trying to make up for a lot. Before he has to struggle to continue, JARVIS announces, “Sir, Captain Rogers has arrived. Shall I send him up?”

“Yes, please,” Tony sighs. It only takes a minute for the elevator to reach them, and Captain America in his full glory steps between the two doors and approaches them. His shield is slung across his back, mask away from his face.

“Stark, Loki,” Rogers says, dipping his head, and then continues with a touch of hesitation, “is…June, here?”

“She’s coming,” Tony replies. “Rogers, Strange. Strange, Rogers. Cool, we all know each other. Let’s talk space grapes.”

Tony catches Strange and Rogers shaking hands, briefly, but he barrels into planning before they can start a conversation. “Okay, look. We’re up against this big guy who’s collecting Infinity Stones. All you need to know, Cap, is that they’re very powerful, they’re six of them and he has four. This guy,” he says, jerking his thumb at Strange, “has one of them. We cannot, under any circumstances, let him get it. Cool?”

“Why does he want them?”

“Dunno. Something evil, probably, I don’t care.”

Cap smiles, but it’s tight. “What’s the play, then?”

“We get to Titan first and set a trap,” Tony says. Behind him, June appears and lands on the balcony, having rounded the tower. The curtain wall opens and she ducks inside, limping slightly on her back leg, where Fenrir’s wound is still closing. Tony catches her glare at Rogers before she settles down behind Loki. “We _do not_ want to dance with this guy. He’s got a lot of wallop right now and from what we know he’s really fucking tough. Best chance for us is to get the gauntlet off his hand and sic June on him.”

“It will not be so easy,” Loki says, softly. His fists clench, one on the tabletop he’s leaned on, and the other in Tony’s grip. “Thanos will not view us as obstacles. He sees none as his equal. He will toy with us and then kill us when we cease to amuse him.”

“Well, if he underestimates us, we have a really good chance at winning,” Cap says, arms folded. “I’ve been told we can pack a punch, too.”

“Indeed,” Strange says, eyeing June and then the gauntlet drawing. “If we can pin him down, we can get this off him. Or we could cut his arm off, should that fail.”

“Gruesome,” Tony says, “I like it.” He turns to Strange, eyeing him, already back to strategizing. “How fast can you make those portals?”

Strange smirks, an eyebrow cocked. “Faster than you’ll need them.”

“Cool. You’re on transport, then, Strange. Don’t engage him directly—just get Cap and Loki in and out as they need. June and I’ve got wings, we won’t need it. You have the stone he wants, so you need to stay in the backline. Loki, you’re on illusions, distractions, and defense; you’re going to be stinging him too—in and out before he can catch you. Cap, you’re the same—get a few punches in, knock him around with your shield, and then get away before he can use the gauntlet on you. Do whatever you can to stop him from closing his fist—that seems to be what triggers the stones, judging from what Loki’s told us. June, you’re going to hit him from the air, but you’re also going to be the one who takes the brunt of the Infinity Stone hits, okay? None of us can survive it, but it’s kind of your wheelhouse, baby girl.”

“And you?” That’s Strange. Tony realizes everyone is zeroed in on him, hanging on every word. It’s a different feeling than the attention usually directed at him; this kind isn’t adoring, or hateful. It’s almost lethal and heavy—life or death attention.

“I’m on air support. If Thanos brings any playmates, I’ll take care of them to let you guys wear Thanos down. If not, I’ll sting him from the air and I’ll be on direct engagement—my new suit has some tech that can take whatever he’s got.”

 _Tony, no,_ Loki says. He’s still afraid, but this fear is different—darker, sweeter, personal.

_Yes. Cap and I are the only ones who can tank his hits. Trust me—the suit can take it._

“Alright,” Captain America says, unhearing to their private conversation. He shuffles. “How’s the communication front?”

 _I will connect us all,_ June says. _Speak in your mind and all will hear._

“It’s freaky, you’ll get over it,” Tony dismisses Rogers’ slightly distressed expression. “Everyone onboard? If not, speak now.”

Strange, Loki, Rogers, and June stare back at him. A moment passes, then two. Tony nods. “Alright. Let’s get to Titan and see what we’re working with.”

*

June says, _we’ll be entering the void soon. Close your eyes._

Loki, from his place on the saddle behind Anthony, immediately closes his eyes. He buries his face in the shoulder of his beloved’s suit and closes his mind, shutting all that’s beyond out; his only connection to his reality is Tony and June. Their minds hum with light-warmth-love-anxiety and it blocks out the absolute silence of the void.

From where Strange is holding onto June’s antler—suspended by his cape that allows him to fly—they hear a distant kind of humming, like the man is singing to himself to block out the nothingness of the void as well. The only thing they can hear from Rogers, where he’s clasped between June’s front talons, is heavy breathing, growing more haggard the longer the pulsing silence stretches.

Anthony says, _it’s okay, Loki. It’s okay._

Loki squeezes tighter and holds his breath. His arms shake against Anthony’s abdomen, a struggling reminder that he’s not alone here, he’s not falling, the void-worms that fester here are not within him. He can feel June’s ancient magic surrounding them, protecting their minds and their sanity; he can feel Anthony’s breath and his humming heart.

He is not alone. He is not alone. He is not alone.

*

But soon he may be.

*

Titan is a dead planet that exists in tones of orange, red, and brown; no life blossoms in its soil, and gravity distorts itself in pockets. Loki spitefully kicks at some of the dead dirt as though it was Thanos’ body.

“First time on a different planet?” Loki hears Anthony ask Strange. “Yeah, it’s freaky. The only other planet I was on exploded yesterday.”

“These kinds of thing happen around you often?” Strange asks, distantly amused.

“Ever since June came along, yeah.”

Loki sighs and turns his attention away from them. Near him, June examines a pocket of low gravity that makes the plume of smoke from her belly condense and ball in the air, practically unmoving. She sniffs at it, interested.

_Are you afraid?_

_Yes, Loki,_ June replies. Her eyes lower from the smoke to Loki’s face.

 _I am too,_ Loki admits, but he knows she and Anthony have been able to sense his terror since he watched Thanos kill Heimdall and strike down his brother like he was an insect. _I have been so eager for my revenge that I forgot how…_

 _How frightening he is,_ June finishes. She has seen the flashes of his memories of Thanos, despite his best efforts; she knows his face, how his fist feels against bone.

Loki looks over Titan’s dead ground, to the derelict buildings and ships that lay silent in their graves. His time with Thanos and the Other is sharp and vague simultaneously in his mind; the memories blur together like a dream but come to him in vivid detail during waking hours. _Are the memories I asked you to take about my time under Thanos’ hand? The torture I endured?_

June is silent. Loki turns his mind away from her and the question, knowing that she won’t answer him. He has thought about his missing memories a great deal, but he has not asked her since that night. She is a being of her word, and she swore to him all those years ago that she would never give these memories back. Loki knows she won’t.

 _No,_ June answers.

Loki looks up at her. He nods, and June blinks in return, a quiet understanding. Behind her wings, in the yellow-orange-dusky sky, the clouds part as though buffeted by great winds. Loki squints in expectation of a spaceship—perhaps the hulking beast he saw beyond the viewing glass in Thor’s ship, massive and intimidating; he even wonders if the Chitauri army will descend, Thanos’ personal armada to invade his own dead home.

It’s not a ship that carries Thanos and his Order that appears from the clouds. It’s not an invading army to overwhelm them. It’s not even a pod, a single transport that would deliver the Mad Titan to the ground.

It’s a dragon, three times the size of June, scales a glinting and shifting kaleidoscope of purples-amethysts-amaranthine. Its wingspan stretches the length of clouds, transforming and molding their shape as it flies from its own tear in the fabric of Yggdrasil’s outer limits. It has horns, not antlers; they curl and twist around its long head like gnarled branches of a dying tree. Even from this distance, its spoiled yellow eyes are spilling and smoking with power. Its roar, when it echoes to them, rattles like a haunted and tortured animal.

Upon its back, Thanos is perched on its shoulders, holding its dark-wine mane in his marked, gauntleted fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ms. gamora? ms. gamora?? MS. GAMORA?? oh my fucking god she's fucking dead
> 
> we're winding up for the Final Fight guys!! Only a handful more chapters left! We'll see how many but this is It. We Made It.
> 
> also, i'm starting to make notes for a _s e q u e l_ but that's a secret.
> 
> thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!! let me know what you think about the appearance of a certain dragon of power ;D anyone see it coming?? it's one of the few things that hasn't changed since the beginning.
> 
> thanks again yall you're the best and i love you all xx


	11. The Second Midsummer of Atlas' Sisterhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Time to D-D-D-Duel! And while June, Tony, and Loki may have been preparing for years for this exact battle, but they're starting to think that maybe they aren't really qualified for the whole Saving the Universe shtick. They're all finding out it's pretty fucking hard. But they're gonna do it anyways.
> 
> Or die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all. Titan Time.
> 
> Trigger Warnings for this chapter: infinity war canon violence--nothing more gruesome than anything in the film depicted here. canon typical torture. some mild body horror, exact location occurs after the line, "Or will humanity remember you as something else?” Skip everything until Steve makes an appearance, or the line that starts with, "Steve Rogers catches his shield" (that's all he ever does amirite). 
> 
> hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think :D

“Hide,” Anthony calls, his voice ringing with authority. “Get into position _, don’t let it see you!”_

Loki is rooted to the spot, staring at the approaching dragon. Every one of his worst fears is materializing right in front of his eyes: Thanos, with all the stones within his reach; his silhouette atop a massive, powerful dragon; all Loki’s beloved scattering as his shadow descends. It is every nightmare and more. At this instant, he’s not even afraid; he’s moved into such a state of absolute and fundamental terror he can’t even control his body.

His vision of the descending dragon is blocked by a shield of bronze. His eyes blink, tears clinging to his lashes; he turns his head, and stares into June’s blue-magic eyes.

_Breathe, my bonded,_ June says, her voice calm and commanding. Loki’s body takes a breath even though he’s sure he wasn’t the one who did it. After his chest expands, his spotting vision clears. _Calm your mind._

Loki’s mind calms, the terror abating. He can hear the drumbeats of the dragon’s wings but they do nothing but match the tempo of his pulse.

_Now,_ June says, to all the positioned warriors, hiding amongst the wreckage to lay their trap, _the plan has changed. You all combat Thanos. I will battle the dragon._

_June, no, that thing is massive, it’ll swallow you whole!_

_This is not a question, Tony,_ June replies, still staring into Loki’s eyes. _I am going to battle my sibling and I will keep them away from you._

Loki releases a breath, expelling some dredges of shock from the bottom of his lungs. He feels a gentle pressure lift and his body feels his own again.

_Bonded,_ June says, and this time Loki knows it is only to him. He looks up at her again. Her eyes are calm, unmoving, and unspeakably ancient. Loki has seen June serious, seen her fall back into the ancient memories of her bones and her ancestors, but this is different: she is not reliving another’s memories, now—she is herself, the memories and her own life joined into one cohesive spirit.

_Loki,_ she says, and her eyes deepen with power. A distant and dark memory rises between them: pain spiking through their chests, blood spilling and boiling against an unfamiliar chest, the crackle of a familiar source of humming energy flowing through their flesh; vengeance and hatred lace the words now just as they did then: _Kill Thanos._

The last travelling sparks of terror fade. Loki feels his spirit settle within his body, and he is no longer afraid. It is a simple command, one that Loki has been aching to follow through with for years.

He nods. June blinks, and she says, _we will be right beside you. Keep his attention on you and we will separate them. The dragon will not be your concern._

_I understand,_ Loki replies. He sits down upon the wreckage of a forgotten ship, and June curls around to sit behind him, a gemstone guardian. When he raises his eyes to the sky once more, the dragon is closer, bearing down upon their graveyard, but Loki does not feel fear.

He sits, and watches, and waits for his chance to kill Thanos.

*

The Protector of Power lands upon Titan, and the very ground seems to shiver. Loki tilts his head as he gazes up at the dragon; it towers over him, thick wings blotting out the distant sun. It is a massive creature—not nearly the size of Shi—but still menacing and dominating. It seems different than June, beyond even the cosmetic differences—horns instead of antlers, a linear mane instead of spine protrusions, a thin, long skull rather than an angular one—since there is some aura of a feral beast that emanates from its body and its magic. It seems wild, untamed… _unintelligent._ Loki thinks this makes the dragon far more dangerous than not.

Thanos gazes down at him in return, his fingers still tangled in the dragon’s disheveled fur, before he throws one leg over the side and drops to the ground. He lands with a reverberating thud, and pulls himself to his full height, gauntlet gleaming. Loki can see the edges of a twisted, aching mark on his forearm where the gauntlet ends. The dragon above him shakes its head, twin eyelids blinking.

“I was wondering if you would ever show,” Loki says, as casual as can be. An easy grin pulls across his mouth as he gestures vaguely to their surroundings. “I, for one, would not like to return to this dead place, if it were my home.”

Thanos props one foot upon a step, and nods as though they are not enemies, as though a dragon does not sit behind them both. “It’s a reminder—Titan was once a place like any other, too little resources and too many mouths to feed.” With a clench of his fist, the world paints over all around them, delivering a vision of a sparkling and green utopia, distant figures living their lives in the courtyard. Loki says to the others, _the stones are activated when he closes his fist._ “When it became too much, I offered a solution.”

Loki knows the stories of Titan’s demise: hunger riots, dead fields, starving children. The leap to what Thanos’ solution was is not a hard one. “You offered to make the choice they couldn’t.”

“A lottery,” Thanos agrees. “Dispassionate: it would affect poor and rich equally. The rest would survive by the other half’s deaths. They called me a monster.”

“Genocide does tend to elicit that response,” Loki replies, his smile sharpening, “I would know.”

“You would. Now I see the same signs in the Universe as I saw here: too little resources, too many mouths. With a snap of my fingers, I could ensure the lives of half the universe for millennia to come.”

Loki’s head lolls on his shoulders, considering. “And all you need are the stones. And then a snap, half the universe, gone.”

“The hardest choices require the strongest wills. I call that mercy.”

Loki shrugs, hands splayed. “I know little of mercy. Unfortunately, I like the Universe as it is, and…some of the people in it.” He stands, cracks his neck, and smiles. Behind him, June raises her wings, and snarls. “While we may be…insignificant to you, and our bodies not as powerful, you’ll find our wills are _far_ stronger than yours.”

Thanos smiles. June takes flight and looses a torrent of fire upon him. The Power Stone on Thanos’ gauntlet flares above a clenched fist, and the fire diverts; above him, the dragon roars and recoils, snapping its jaws at June’s darting body. She evades, and with Thanos’ eyes on her, Anthony appears from above the derelict ship by Loki—calling, _I’m coming in!—_ and crushes him beneath a massive piece of scrap metal.

Loki summons a dozen of his corporeal clones, magic snapping, as Anthony says, _June’s got the dragon—get him pinned down and get that gauntlet off!_

The giant scrap of the ship explodes in a shower of purple sparks and shoots outwards at them; Loki’s clones all summon shields to protect themselves, all identical images of Loki’s true form. Anthony gets hit by one of the pieces, thrown out of Loki’s vision.

_Fuck! Someone get in there with Loki!_

Loki focuses on Thanos. He’s cleared of the wreckage now, but he catches sight of the one dozen of Loki’s clones surrounding him. A different voice rings through their head, warmer and like melting ice, and says: “ _coming in hot!”_

Before Thanos can clench his fist, a golden-sparking portal appears, and the captain launches from it, his shield impacting Thanos’ head. Rogers flips over his recoiling body as Loki summons two daggers for each clone and flings them at Thanos. Rogers sees where the daggers will land in his head, curtesy of Loki, and deftly avoids them as they ping off Thanos’ body, practically harmless.

He turns and engages Thanos, landing punches so hard Loki can almost feel their impact from where he stands. Loki conjures four snapping tendrils of magic and four of his clones wield them like whips, snapping at his arms and across the back of his head. Loki watches him fend off both his blows and the captain’s, before freeing his gauntlet from the fray.

_His fist,_ Loki calls, seeing the muscles tense along his gauntlet’s arm; the captain can’t reach it in time, and a wave of thrumming-purple power spreads like a wave from the stone. Both of them are thrown back by its tangible force, and all of Loki’s clones dissipate when his skull hits against stone.

The effects of the Power Stone ringing through his body, atop the blow to his skull, makes the sky above him blur and melt; Loki blinks, groaning from the breath-stealing pain. He can hear June roaring in the distance, echoed by a deeper and rattling howl; her mind, while connecting them all, rings loud with fury-hate-rage.  The world drops out from under Loki, suddenly, and he lands hard again, a sparking portal above him.

The sorcerer’s, Strange, face appears above him. “ _Catch your breath, I’m taking your place,”_ he says, and disappears through another summoned portal.

Loki swears lightly, using a tendril of magic to activate the Iron Mage gauntlets. He has to be careful how much magic he uses, lest he exhausts his reserves before Thanos is dead. The armor, with its reserves in the arc reactor and tethered to the adamantine, will sustain him for five odd minutes before he will have to fall back on his own power.

He looks up and sees Anthony shoot by, his armor barely scratched; he fires a half dozen missiles just as Strange gets knocked back by a blow to his golden shields. Loki follows, cloaking himself from view before he emerges from the smoke left behind from the missiles and slices at Thanos’ ankles, using his magic to strengthen the blow. Thanos yells, and his fist snaps close to Loki’s head. Loki feels a portal open behind him, and he leaps through it, his cape barely escaping Thanos’ grasp.

The portal leaves him on the outskirts of the battle as Anthony quickly diverts from an Infinity Stone attack—led by the Power Stone sucking in the energy from another series of repulsor blasts and discharging it in his direction. Tony’s not quick enough, and Loki watches him become consumed in the flames and hit a distant turbine on a ship. Rogers takes the distraction to get in close and engage Thanos directly, shield aloft.

_I’m okay,_ Tony says, even while his mouth yells; _this guy really likes to knock me around._

Loki acknowledges him and mutters a spell beneath his breath. Ice crawls along the Iron Mage gauntlets as he banishes the enchantment that hides his true skin on his arms. The chill freezes the armor and strengthens the magic reserves in the palms.

_I’ve got him blinded—get him down!_ That’s Strange’s voice, ringing sharp and strict. Loki flies closer, landing next to Thanos’ left side, where Strange is holding his gauntlet open with orange-red whips of his crackling power. Thanos’ eyes are covered with a cord of crimson magic, wrapped around his bald head. With his Jotun magic, Loki ducks and grasps onto Thanos’ massive hand, encasing his fingers and wrist in a block of creeping black ice. With their arms joined by the ice, Loki crouches and digs his heels in, straining against Thanos’ strength. The armor keeps him on the ground, thankfully.

Loki feels the captain join them, rounding his back and kicking out his knee, sending Thanos crashing down, kneeling. As Anthony lands, Loki says, _someone get this arm, I’ll hold his mind; get me free._

_Loki!_ A dozen terrified thoughts ring from Anthony’s mind, but Loki doesn’t respond. He releases his grip and pulls his blue hands free from the ice as Strange redirects his whips to that arm, levitating. Loki stands and presses his hands to Thanos’ temples

and _reaches._

*

Thanos fights him bitterly, his mind fueled by the Mind Stone. Loki, however, is backed by June, whose mind rushes forward with Loki’s to beat him down. Her battle with the power dragon is but the background to their mental fray.

Loki by himself would be crushed like a grape by Thanos’ mind and the Stone. With June, they weather it, straining forwards, each gruesome step at a time. They’re nowhere near his center, or his mindscape, but rather in the dark-place between minds struggling to dominate the other. Loki only seeks to hold him still, not to invade him—and certainly not to be invaded in return.

Memories rise, unbidden, of his days-months-years-centuries spent cowering under the mind of Thanos’ telepathic pet, of flinching from the Other’s nails; they flash before his eyes, echoing eerily in the dark, senseless place around them. Unfamiliar memories of a dark cliff, a green-skinned woman, a lifetime of half-genocide batters at him, clawing at his skin like wild wolves. Loki lets loose a yell, his whole spirit trembling, nearly letting go, slipping back into that survival instinct of an animal nearly dead.

Anthony’s voice rings, all around him. June’s warmth encases him, invigorates his body. Loki holds on, and on, and on, and he does it for them.

*

Tony watches Loki hook into Thanos’ mind, and he steps forward and grabs onto the gauntlet, pulling with all his strength. He feels Thanos flexing and tightening his hand, trying to stop him, but Tony digs his heels in and pulls, working it off.

“I’ve got him, I’ve got him,” Rogers says from where he’s keeping Thanos grounded. Strange, too, is straining, holding his other arm clear of Tony and the gauntlet.

“Hurry, Stark,” Strange mutters, readjusting his shaking grip. In front of Thanos, Loki’ face has gone pale as a sheet, his hands trembling, but he doesn’t let go. His mind is completely shut off from them, but with their deeper connection, Tony can feel how his mind is pulsing beneath the glass-reflective shields. He’s fighting a whole different battle than them right now.

“I’m going as fast as I can, this bitch is fighting it,” he snaps, getting his fingers under the cusp of the gauntlet. This close, he can get a good look at the mark staining his skin. The more the gauntlet comes off, the more he can see; it’s all black, twisted runes that look like a child’s forgery of Tony and Loki’s marks with June.

Shit, this guy really is a rider. _Fuck._ Tony nearly loses his grip, but he pulls harder, yelling in his strain. With his hands on the gauntlet, Tony can really feel the Infinity Stones thrumming, almost a pulse; the four gleaming on his knuckles are bright and captivating. Tony’s eyes hone in on the yellow stone, and for a second, he swears he can hear it…whispering. Like it’s trying to tell him something…

_Tony!_ The cry is from LokiStrangeRogers, snapping his attention away from the stones.

“Shit, shit,” he swears, readjusting his grip. The gauntlet isn’t even halfway off. “This isn’t working! I need some help here!”

“Get it off, Iron Man!” Rogers calls, his voice straining for strength. “We can’t move, we’re pinned!”

Tony pulls again, using the flight adjustors on the suit to add some strength, but the meat of Thanos’ palm is just butting against the wrist joint of the gauntlet, unmoving. He twists it, tries to work it off that way. He barely manages to get another inch before he feels Loki’s mind droop with exhaustion, and with a snap almost audible, pull away from Thanos.

Loki stumbles back, eyes distant. Thanos’ dark eyes clear, and suddenly Tony is flying through the air, tumbling until he crashes into a rock face. Tony lifts his head just in time to see Thanos readjust the gauntlet, and then close his fist. Above him, the moon orbiting Titan flares with purple light, and with a tremendous heave, starts falling down upon them.

Before the first asteroids hit them, Thanos says, “and how strong will you be without your little dragonling, _riders?”_

Tony gets to his feet, but he staggers down again as the gauntlet closes, and the mind stone howls. Tony’s connection to Loki and June, that deeply rooted bond in his mind, disintegrates. It’s not just shut, not clamped shut—it’s _gone._

_“No!”_ he screams, and the moon above rains down on them, and Tony is buried beneath its fiery weight.

*

Tony screams into the suit, shrieking within his mind. He’s buried, cutting through the rock haphazardly, not even thinking—he’s alone, _he’s alone,_ and he can’t feel June, doesn’t know where Loki is—he can’t _feel them, where are they,_ oh _fuck,_ please, _come back, give them back,_ not this, don’t take this from me, please not this, _anything but this—_

Sunlight burns his eyes as he frees himself from the rubble of the moon. The suit took the hit, thankfully, but there’s a dozen damage alerts pinging across the HUD that he deftly ignores. Upright, now, he can see Strange battling Thanos, and _no,_ he’s supposed to stay away, what if Thanos gets the Time Stone? How could they hope to defeat him when he could just close his fist and rewind all of their progress?

Tony activates the repulsors, mind still howling. He can’t find June or Loki—June somewhere above, judging by her screaming roars; Loki still hidden beneath the moon, fuck he could be dead and Tony wouldn’t know—but this _fucker_ took them from him, and Tony is going to make him pay. He’s going to make Thanos _bleed._

Thanos gets his fist around Strange’s throat and tosses him away; the doctor doesn’t get up again, lying prone on the ground. Tony lands directly in front of his still form, chest heaving, the suit still dusty and hot from the fire of a falling moon.

“I’m going to rip you apart for that,” Tony says, his teeth bared, hatred oozing from his mouth. “You’ll wish I only killed you.”

“Ah, the Earthen dragon rider,” Thanos replies, perfectly unthreatened. “I hear you take in strays.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spits, and fires a dozen kinetic bombs from the shoulders of the suit. He doesn’t wait for Thanos to redirect the energy with the Power stone; he shoots forward and slams his fist into Thanos’ face when the smoke clears.

The blow is disorienting enough that the energy to dissipate from the gauntlet. Tony’s arm aches from the hit, but he returns again, swinging his leg onto Thanos’ fist. The gauntlet and the suit screech against each other. The momentum of the blow knocks the gauntlet down, open fisted. Tony swings his arm around, propelled with the flight stabilizers and his and Loki’s spell of power and breaking, and cracks his fist onto Thanos’ brow.

Either the suit isn’t strong enough, or Thanos is strengthened by the stones, or Loki’s spells weren’t potent enough—but when Thanos lifts his ugly head, he only has the smallest cut upon his cheek, barely leaking blood where he should have a caved-in skull. He smiles, bearing sharp white teeth. “That’s all you’ve got, rider?”

Thanos lifts his hand, and Tony flips over himself, thrown by the gauntlet beneath his foot. Thanos grasps him midair, upside down, and rips one of the boots straight off his leg. Tony yells, fires his repulsors into his chest, but Thanos barely recoils from the hit.

“You’re nothing without your dragon,” Thanos continues, tossing him aside; Tony lands hard and hears his ankle make a sound it shouldn’t. He can’t feel the pain right now because of Loki’s protective spells, though, so he gets to his feet and falls into a battle stance as Thanos approaches again. “You’re just a man in a suit of armor. Without your dragon’s magic, without its mind—you wouldn’t have even known I was coming.”

“And what are you _with_ your dragon, huh?” Tony snaps, ducking beneath a swing; he flies away before Thanos can swipe beneath and hit his arc reactor, his flight lopsided from the missing boot. He fires a missile, hoping the close range will stop him from using the gauntlet to redirect it. “That thing looks half dead and, not to mention your mark. What did you do to it? If you were a _real_ dragon rider you’d have taken over everything by now!”

“I don’t need a dragon to do my work,” Thanos replies, shaking off the missile strike as though it was just a child’s hit. He encroaches on Tony’s space again, aiming for his head. Tony raises his arms and the blow strikes off the outer edges of the forearm armor, crumbling to the ground. “That thing is just an animal. A powerful one, yes, but nothing more.”

Tony’s eyes are nearly blinded with light when Thanos rips the helmet from his suit clean off. The adamantine sings with Loki’s protection spell, suddenly, and makes the next blow to his chest nonlethal; he can feel his artificial sternum crack but the arc reactor still hums.

“Fuck you,” Tony spits again, barely able to catch his breath. Thanos lords over him and raises his fist, barely clenched. “You’re so fucking _stupid_.”

Tony always thought his last words would be something sarcastic, something witty. Now he’s just so fucking angry he can’t even remember what laughter feels like.

Thanos smiles, almost amused. “Perhaps they will remember you,” he says. “The little dragon rider, who barely had a moment to relish being one. Or will humanity remember you as something else?”

The fist clenches, and the yellow stone sings; Tony’s mind spikes with agony as he feels something clawing-aching-howling-tearing rip through his shields and slash through his memories. He screams, the pain so indescribable that time seems to black out into nothingness. A gargantuan presence looms over him, reaching down with a poisoned claw to rip free his memories and his mind from its moorings. He chokes on his screams, fighting it, but the torment is so excruciating he can barely breathe; he feels inches from death before the overwhelming specter retreats.

“The Merchant of Death, maybe,” Thanos says, his deep voice distant and amused to Tony’s bleeding ears. “If only you were so, rider. You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

Tony tries to spit in his face, but his mouth won’t move. It feels like the bones of his skull are melting into his skin, tugging and ripping through muscle and bleeding viscera. He’s awake-cognizant enough to see a blue-red blur strike Thanos’ head before ricocheting away. Steve Rogers catches his shield and leaps at Thanos, but the gauntlet throws him away. A directed blast from both the mind and power stone, singing and shrieking in Tony’s ears, knocks him unconscious, near Strange’s still unmoving body.

Thanos turns to Tony again, where he’s trying to get to his feet, spittle falling from his mouth. His mind—ripped away from June and Loki first, now throbbing with residual pain from that forceful mind scourge—only tells him one thing: to _get away._ If he’s away, he can regroup, can get at the gauntlet again.

A groan escapes him as he feels a cold force enclose around his head, lifting him up from the ground entirely. He feels his ribs buckle as he’s twisted in Thanos’ grip, held aloft like a ragdoll. The suit is still powered, but in pieces—no arms, one leg gone, helmet missing. With the reactor facing away from Thanos’ chest, and his mouth too full of blood and pain to order a self-destruct or a repulsor blast, he’s practically as helpless as a toy in his grip.

“There you are, Loki,” Thanos says, and Tony’s eyes flicker open to see Loki standing ten feet away, clutching at his side. He’s covered in dirt and soot, but he’s alive, his cheeks streaked with tears from the fires and the pain of being separated.

“Loki…” Tony mutters, drool like marbles in his mouth, filling his cheeks and making it hard to talk.

Loki’s eyes flick to him, taking him in, before he looks back to Thanos, face shuttering closed. “Stop,” he says. “Stop hurting him.”

The pain in Tony’s head recedes, only slightly. It feels like the mind stone’s presence in his head has retreated beyond the line of his destroyed shields—close by, but no longer brutalizing him.

“Now that we’ve got that out of your systems,” Thanos says, still holding Tony up. He tries to lift his hands to peel off Thanos’ grip, but all it earns him is his knees to the ground and a humming-burning pressure forced against his temple. He gasps at its pain and the whispers he can hear echo from the gauntlet.

“Are you finally going to give me what I came here for, Loki?” Thanos continues, easily. Tony can’t see him, but his voice is so even and calm that it seems like they were barely even fighting him. “I know you, godling. I have been in your mind—I know you too proud to leave the tesseract in anyone’s hands but your own.”

_Fuck._ That’s what Loki had been lying about—Thanos summoned them here for the tesseract _that was on Asgard_. Loki has it, they brought the final two stones right to him, _fuck,_ this was stupid, this was not the plan—

“No,” he whispers, eyes peeling open; Loki’s body is titled from Tony’s crooked vision, but he’s looking at him, face white and fingers trembling. “ _Don’t,_ Loki. Don’t give it to him.”

Loki trembles, like it’s taking every ounce of his strength to stop himself from falling to his knees or striking out at Thanos. His eyes find Tony’s again, and _fuck,_ he looks anguished and trying so desperately to hide it.

“Well, Loki?” Thanos asks, not even raising his voice. “What will you do?”

Tony wishes he could speak to Loki in their minds, wishes he could send all the love he feels right into his center so that he’ll know it’s okay, that Tony’s okay, that what he has to let happen isn’t his fault. But he can’t, their minds are just distant stars now, and Tony reaches for the words to explain.

Being unconnected feels like Tony’s already dead. By the anguish on Loki’s face, he feels like he’s already lost him, too.

“You can’t, Loki,” he whispers, tongue thick in his mouth. Only an hour ago did he taste Loki’s lips, sad and melancholy and sweet; now all he tastes is ash. “You can’t give it to him. Half the universe will die—you can’t, babe, please. It’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No,” Loki moans, fingers digging into his side, mouth contorting into a tortured frown. “ _No,_ it’s not _.”_

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers, vision briefly browning out from pain; he forces himself back, to meet Loki’s eyes. “That’s the play, sweetheart, that’s the sacrifice. We both…we both knew we would die for each other—we _knew that,_ we knew it could happen. This is my choice—to save you, to save everyone. And it’s an easy choice, it really is. We never talked about how it’s _our_ sacrifice, though, even though we all knew and couldn’t say it. I die here, for us, right now—that’s _my_ sacrifice. Yours is letting me.”

 Loki’s face crumples. “It was supposed to be _me,”_ he whispers, broken. “This is my fault…”

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers. “It’s okay. I love you, Loki. Let me do this.”

Pain erupts like a red-hot coal at his temple. Tony thought his body too hurt to scream, his ribs too cracked, his sternum too bent; yet, this new and indescribable pain burns the scream right out of him. It’s worse than anything he’s felt before—worse than heart surgery without anesthesia, worse than losing his mom on a cold night, worse than…worse than _anything._ But in the end, it’s just pain. Suffering is suffering, and it’s been an old friend of Tony’s for a while now.

And then it stops.

Tony’s eyes loll open, almost out of his control. Loki’s face is streaked with fallen tears, and he’s bent over, knee to the ground, as though he had felt all of Tony’s pain in his own chest. He’s heaving in gasping breaths, and a shout rings in Tony’s ears, meaningless, but in Loki’s voice.

“No…” he garbles, mouth heavy and stuffed with cotton. His plea is ignored as Loki reaches up and the tesseract seems to unfold from nowhere, lighting up the downturned side of Loki’s sheet-white face.

“Take it,” he says, breath catching. “Just…take it and spare him.”

His body is almost numb as Thanos drags him across the ground, reaching for the tesseract. Tony meets Loki’s eyes, says, _why would you do that, please, no, Loki, no, he’ll kill you, Loki,_ even though he knows Loki can’t hear him.

Suddenly, Thanos drops Tony to the ground, and he lands there, groaning. Dust puffs into his mouth from the impact, swirling around him. He landed sort of sideways, so when his eyes open, he sees the horrifying image of Loki holding a dagger to Thanos’ throat, suspended by yellow energy cascading around his eyes, the tesseract in one of the Titan’s hands.

“Foolish little boy,” Thanos croons, and crushes the tesseract in his hand. The Space Stone rotates between two of his fingers, and takes its place on Thanos’ glove, ringing from its impact. Loki is struggling against the power, the whites of his eyes visible like a fire-spooked horse; but he can’t pull away as Thanos reaches down, so carefully—like a lover might—and wraps his gauntlet around Loki’s throat.

“No,” Tony moans, but his body won’t respond. He tries to stand but yellow light lances in front of his eyes, paralyzing him; his mind howls with pain as he drops back to the ground. By the time his vision clears, Loki is suspended in air, kicking and struggling for breath, clawing at the golden fingers.

“No!” he repeats, almost a cry; he struggles upright and through the burning spike of pain in his mind; he reaches out, yells, “ _no!_ Not him—he gave you what you wanted, _leave him alone!”_

Loki kicks again, and chokes out, “I…love—you, Tony. Have since—the start.”

**

June looks down upon her bonded, with her sibling bearing down upon them from the sky; she looks at him and sees a scared child, whose monsters have crawled from their shadows beneath his bed. She sees terror filling his lungs like water does when a dark hand pushes a head into a metal tub.

June sees him overcome, and she reaches out to him. She blocks his sight and leans close to him, smelling the fear. When he turns his wide eyes to her, she touches his mind, and orders, _breathe, my bonded._ When his body listens to her command, she continues, _calm your mind._

She feels it calm, and once the terror abates, she releases him. She turns to the others and tells them of her plan to fight her sibling, still aware of how her bonded gathers himself, hands still shaking. As the others hide around the space, ready to ambush Thanos—and now the dragon he rides on—June turns to their private connection once more.

_Loki,_ she says, and a memory rises: Obadiah’s gun, the pain that cut through her underbelly and her ribs, the devoted one carrying her bloody body to Tony’s side, his singing heart that fed her dying magic, the hatred she felt so keenly for the man who would have stolen them from each other after so long apart. Loki looks at her, and she tells him what she told Tony, all that time ago: _kill Thanos._

*

As her bonded and the Titan speak, June reaches for her sibling’s mind. The dragon before her is a twisted thing, gangly and snarling and hungry; they remind her of herself in that dark-place, trembling with fear and smelling constantly of blood that rots between teeth. They look unhealthy, unkempt, desperate; there’s a smoking quality to their eyes that blots out the splotches of dark color on the scales around their head and overgrown horns.

Her sibling’s mind— _his_ mind—recoils from her touch, his outermost shields sharp and riddled with thorns that cut at her when she tries to venture deeper. She recoils from him, snarling; the pain of his defenses is sharp and biting, like knives against Tony’s sensitive, unguarded skin. She has no guards or armor against this gnarled jaggerbush of a mind; she cannot speak to him, let alone reach him.

She rises, when Loki makes his threats, and distracts Thanos briefly with a torrent of her fire. When he is crushed beneath Tony’s plan, she quickens her pace, darting away from the snapping jaws of her brother as he follows her.

His wings are bones and veins, barely strong enough to lift his body. June watches his flight as she flies higher, away from the battlefield below; his shoulders tremble from the force, neck straining to keep his counterweighted tail upright. It’s as though he doesn’t know _how_ to fly, let alone to control a body as large and heavy as his. When he roars, it rattles in his throat, like he struggles to contain his fire in his belly when he means only to make sound.

While she is smaller than him, she is much faster. Her brother may be able to elongate his neck to snap at her tail, she is smart—and strong—enough to bank away from his teeth by tucking in a wing, spiraling away, the chase renewed. Now that she sees how much he struggles to fly, to keep up with her, she strives to keep him far away from the ground, no rest for his wings.

All she needs to do is exhaust him until he falls to the ground, and then she will attack his mind when he is too tired to retreat. She is the Protector of the Mind—it is her duty to reach him, to speak with him, and ask why he fights alongside a being that torments the stones and uses them for his own will. It is against their ways, their blood. He is the Protector of Power and should have killed Thanos for even daring to wield his stone.

Because he is the Protector of Power—and because he is so much larger and older than her—she doesn’t dare try to attack his scales or his vulnerable underbelly. His scales, even haggard and unclean as they are, will be twice as tough as hers, and her teeth and talons will not be thick enough to pierce them. All she can do is hope to convince him to leave his rider or use his own massive weight against him—in both exhaustion and in falling to the ground without wings to stop him.

She feels her brother fall away from her, losing altitude. She turns to get another look, analyzing him—he sees her hovering and roars; she returns it, a challenge. He snarls and rises to meet her again, furiously beating his wings harder and deeper to rise against the heavy gravity eddy he’s cutting through.

With a moment, she reaches for his mind again. Despite the exhaustions she feels ringing in his muscles and his wings, his mind still snarls at her, ripping, making her bleed. She shrieks, pulling away from his mind and his body as he looms closer. She dives away, spiraling between his front legs beneath an underbelly of amethyst and then away; she darts upwards, through the clouds, to break his vision of her.

She feels Loki reaching his mind out towards another, as she once did to him. Instinctively, she lends her power to him—as simple as giving him her magic—and bolsters his mind, protecting him as much as she can from Thanos’ mind. His is like his dragon’s—writing, painful, jagged. He is strong, too, but not ungodly so; she can bear his weight for as long as Loki can.

It is this distraction that lets her brother catch her. He erupts from the cloud cover beneath her, roaring, purplish-orange fire pouring from his throat; she can feel the heat of it beneath her scales, on the sensitive flesh of her body. She yelps, still closer to Loki than she is her own body. She tucks and dives once more beneath him, turned away from the fire.

His back talon, twisted and thick, catches her hind leg—the injured one—as she escapes him, and she goes tumbling, her blood arcing, wings buffeting and yanked painfully by the wind. Loki’s mind snaps away from Thanos, and she pulls away from him as best she can without abandoning his reeling mind. Roaring, she splays her wings wide, cutting her flight speed in half. Her brother immediately passes her, struggling to slow and meet her quick turns. He fumbles, his tired and bony wings struggling to stop and turn his body.

It is a short reprieve. The Stone of Power screams, and so too does her brother, writhing midair. The moon high above them splinters and rains fire upon them; it is a simple thing to dart between the falling rocks, twisting her flight to make their edges crash into her brother that follows.

But then she feels the whispering stone—her Mind Stone—sing, and suddenly, her mind is unmoored. Her lifelong connection with Tony, and her woven bond with Loki, disintegrates. Nothing tethers her to the minds of her bonded, to the universe—she is adrift, all at once.

All at once, she is alone. Her mind is the void, empty, nothingness.

She screams. Never once has she been alone before. She has dreaded this feeling, knowing that one day her bonded would fall to sleep—a sleep she could not join them in—and then she will be alone. But she never thought it would be…so terrible. So _unspeakable._

Her bonded may be dead, right now. They may be dead beneath the falling stones, and she does not know.

June has never felt terror. She has been afraid, certainly: for her riders, for the softness of the minds of her bonded. But she has never felt like this: like her mind is filled with nothing, her magic gone, her wings heavy, her belly filled with stones. It is like she is dead but cannot sleep.

June roars again, and the very ground of Titan trembles. She rounds the falling moon and hovers, turning her smoking eyes to her brother.

Despite the pain in her being and her body, she summons her lonesome magic with a breath, and the plume falls before her eyes. Her brother’s magic, to her eyes, is a quivering, lashing thing that twists upon itself like the manifestation did in Tony’s mind. It is a snake that bites its own body, coiling and hateful and spitting. But she can see the core of him, the replenishing place of his magic, right at the hollow of his jaw.

A dangerous place. His mind, even now trembling with exhaustion, is too fortified to reach without pressing her nose to his center.

June roars. Her fears of engaging her brother directly have deserted her with the ashes of her bonds. She tucks her wings into her sides, and dives; her brother turns midair, trying to swat her away with his horns. She turns with him, raking her talons across the edges of his ribs, striking his amaranthine scales. She barely leaves a scratch but he is aware of her position, just as she hoped. She rounds beneath his body, his head twisting to follow her, wings buffeting.

June crests beneath his wing, raised in preparation of another turn; she darts upwards, directly towards the sky. His head follows her, exposing the hollow of his jaw. She opens her wings, tilts her head back, and falls.

His head is too large to move as quickly as she can dive; his throat is exposed still when she reaches him. But his jaw is faster. She reaches his center with her body just as his mouth snaps closed around her wing, caught in the twisted teeth at the back of his mouth.

She roars, and pain careens through her body like fire she has never felt before. She thinks of Anthony’s dirt-smeared mouth, shouting at grabbing hands to release her, and she thinks of Loki’s tortured face while she reaches for rotting and haunted memories; she thinks of her two most beloved as she summons the whole of her serrated magic

and _reaches_.

*

June opens her eyes to darkness.

Blinking, she raises her head, steps carefully forward; her talons click against metal, almost like the flying beast the humans tried to imprison Loki in, all that time ago. She can’t feel any pain or exhaustion, here, but she doesn’t dare look over her shoulder to see if her mind remade the injury to her wing or her leg.

The darkness fades carefully away as she steps forward, almost curious in her presence but cautious enough to retreat. As distant light illuminates a small, metallic room. It’s a rectangular little space with a low ceiling and a round glass hole in the metal wall that opens to the wide and empty space. Stars pass, careless and silent, from one side to the next. A dark square sits, crouched, in a corner; it appears to be some kind of box or storage container.

A spacecraft, then. This dragon’s center is nothing like Loki’s, which was just as small but much more lively, what with its teeming life and babbling creek. This space is quiet, and small, and very empty.

Just as she thinks her brother may be hiding from her, there’s a scuffling sound from the box in the corner; June watches as a tiny hatchling pulls itself from within its contents—one tiny little jacket, an attempt at a nest—and carefully lift itself onto thin legs. It’s young—as small as she was when her and Tony escaped the dark-place—and in the light of distant stars, his purple scales gleam. He’s not solid, though; the light seems to move through his body, like a mirage, or smoke.

Her brother’s memory crosses the small room, staring intently at the glass—the round little hole in the side of the ship—and his rump shakes, tail twitching. His body is so thin, with ribs visible beneath developing scales, dark horns barely overgrown at the sides of his head. His thin mane is puffy and soft, like down.

Her brother leaps to the windowsill, barely wide enough for the dragonling to settle on his side, pressed against the glass. June watches the tiny thing fall asleep there, lulled by the passing lights and the humming silence.

Her brother’s center is a memory? She has never encountered such a thing before, not in her own experience with her bonded or in the ancestor’s memories. Centers of dragons and those in possession of magic are places, either imagined or real, that make the being feel safe—they are representations of serenity and peace. Memories are tinged with feelings—centers are the foundations of the soul, its core untouched by sentiment.

June steps closer, within the small space and its delicate light. Beside her, her brother appears from the box, this time solid: his wide yellow eyes take her in, ears tucked back behind his horns. June immediately lowers her head, laying down on the cold metal to bring her head to his young height.

He’s so small, barely old enough to speak. He doesn’t approach her, but he doesn’t flee back to his meager nest. His wings are paper-thin, folded to his side—his form here is nothing like the massive, hulking body he inhabits.

“Little one,” June says, careful of her volume. She looks to the window, where her brother’s image still sleeps, tail hanging from the edge, swinging in his sleep. “This is your center. We are safe, here. I will not hurt you.”

Her brother dips his head, still watching her. A quiet acknowledgment of her truth that he can surely feel.

“My name is June,” she says, quiet still. “What is yours?”

The purple dragonling cocks its head. “Name?” His voice is young and sweet, crackling on the edges as though his belly is but embers, wishing to turn to flame in his throat. He hesitates, watching her. He takes a slow step forward, toes tensing and releasing against the chill of the floor. “I do not…have a name. I was…not given…”

Oh. This poor little creature, her brother—adrift in space, tortured, barely old enough to name himself. Pain lances through her heart, her mind, and she keens, gently, careful not to scare him.

“I am so sorry, brother,” she says, grief making her words heavy. Her response interests her brother, as he comes closer, sniffing at her talons, fawn ears piqued. “I have been looking for you, but I failed you. I should have come for you sooner. My fault…”

“Brother?” the dragon repeats, almost hopeful. June’s knowledge of siblings passes to him in the form of a ring of smoke, and he sneezes with its smell in his nose. He takes it in a moment later. “Sister?” he asks her, hopeful still.

“Yes,” she says, gentle and heartbroken. “Yes, I am your sister. I will protect you from this moment on.”

He brother watches her, and then simple and unassuming happiness curls like warmth from him, soothing the ache in her heart. “Sister,” he repeats, content. He climbs upon her supplicating forearms and presses his tiny front feet to her snout, examining her eyes. “Pretty,” he declares, and grooms the scales between her eyes, purring.

June keens-chuckles, torn between grief of his predicament and happiness for his innocence, still protected within the core of him. Thanos had been unable to breach this deep, like Loki, and for that she is grateful. It was her Mind Stone that twisted his mind, she is sure of it; Thanos’ mind is strong, but he is not telepathic in his own right.

It is her fault her brother is tormented, his mind like thorns, consuming itself.

Her brother examines her eyes again, yellow to blue, and then he turns his small head towards the stars, and asks, “…name?” in an interested, inquisitive tone.

“Yes,” she replies, simple. “Give yourself a name, brother. What shall we know you as?”

Her brother contemplates the passing void of space, and peruses June’s open mind and assortment of memories, and declares, “Atlas.”

Tony contemplates the myth of Atlas more than most. He compares Loki or June’s predicaments to the being that is said to hold the sky upon his shoulders—of being beneath a weight so crushing it is nigh-unbearable. Sometimes his own mind is so heavy a weight to bear she, too, compares his body to the kneeling icon of Atlas. She thinks often of the ancestor’s sky-heavy mind that nearly crushed her and her bonded beneath its weight.

“Atlas,” she greets, blowing another ring of smoke around his small body; Atlas squeals with delight as she reintroduces herself, “I am June. It is very nice to meet you again.”

Atlas examines her. With her mind open to him, he too can see the ancestor’s memories: his stories of the Infinity Dragons’ creation, their countless rebirths, their duty to the universe. “I am…not well,” he says, but it almost feels like a guess: he knows no personal memories of their other lives but has known since he hatched something was not right.

“No,” she agrees. “Your mind is…twisted upon itself. Your body—”

“He made me grow,” Atlas interrupts her. A memory passes to her: Thanos pressing a purple, singing stone to Atlas’ throat, holding it there despite his screams and shrieks as his body grew four, five, six times its infant size to the hulking thing it now is. “I was too small. He…wanted to…ride. Fly.”

June comforts him. She expected as much—he would have been one, two hundred years old to be in a body so large, and Loki would have encountered stories of a living dragon if he were that old. Atlas is not nearly that old—all his memories are still hazy from his hatching. June examines them, careful of his mind’s softness and vulnerability; Atlas’ first memories are spiked with terror and fear and pain, just like June’s are. Thanos’ face features strongly, but so do the flat and gray facades of his dark order, the children that do his bidding.

Atlas is not even one year old. And his time has been nothing but pain and loneliness and dark, metal rooms with the smallest vestiges of comfort—the passing light of stars, a nest of scratchy fabric.

He nudges at her jaw, and she obligingly lifts her head so he can curl up in the warm spot between her legs and against the scar on her underbelly. He settles there, sighing, tail flicking.

“You are familiar,” Atlas says, eyes closed. “He…the whispering stone, it sung me to sleep. It was your voice.”

“Though I was not with you in body, I was with you there,” June agrees, trying to comfort this hatchling. She settles her head around his body, curling around him like Tony used to do when she was Atlas’ size, remembering how she felt safe and comforted by his presence.

They settle there, quiet, for some time. The sleeping mirage of Atlas’ memory still sits at the porthole, sheer through the light. Atlas himself soaks in June’s soft attention, purring from the warmth of a sister and a dragon’s belly of fire against his body. June allows the silence, etching the sensation of holding a hatchling close deep into her mind. She will carry this memory until she falls to her last and final sleep, may even deliver it to any dragons who hatch under her eyes. She is a Protector—not only of the stones, but now of all dragonkind.

If only…she had been better, smarter, to find Atlas’ egg before Thanos. She could have spared him so much pain.

June pushes the regrets away, unwilling to taint Atlas’ center with her own grief.

They cannot stay here forever. June gives Atlas as much time as she can to rest in the safety of her body, but eventually, she lifts her head away from him. Before she can question him—his first memories, his time with Thanos, what he knows of the stones—he opens his yellow eyes and asks, “June, sister—you have riders?”

June nods. She summons the memories of her bonded and their mirages form near the porthole, by Atlas’ sleeping memory. Tony’s warm and grinning image turns to them, waving; Loki’s image, bathed in soft light, reaches to pet Atlas’ back, a soothing motion.

Atlas watches the mirages with wide, wonderous eyes. “They love you,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” June whispers. She nudges him with her snout, gentle. “They would have loved you as well.”

A soft, sad sound escapes from Atlas’ throat, longing. His eyes are trained on Tony and Loki’s silent images by the stars, unmoving, taking in their faces and the memories June lets him see. “Thanos isn’t mine. His connection to me is weak. When he lost the whispering stone, it withered and darkened.” Atlas brightens. “I knew he was not right. He is rotten, all spoiled inside. But he is not mine, is he?”

“No,” June says. She knows this as a fact. The ancestor’s memories of the Protector of Power, as Shi knew him—K’awiil—also contain his rider, a soft and compassionate being that loved others as easily as breathing. The Protector of Power is always bonded to a rider that raises them with compassion, and kindness, and love, to make the dragon into a soft and loving thing that tempers the hard and jagged edges of the power of its stone.

And Thanos is not Atlas’ compassion. Atlas’ memories become clearer before her eyes: a singing voice beyond his egg, a forced and artificial connection still yet hooked in his mind. Thanos forced Atlas to hatch for him and bound the dragon to his service, stealing him from his purpose and his fated rider.

“Do you think my true bonded is out there?”

“I do,” June replies. She turns her head to the stars, as though she could see directly where Atlas’ rider sleeps, between the silent images of a sleeping dragon and two loving beings.

“I miss them,” Atlas confesses to her, softer than before. “I did not know to, but I do. I miss my rider.”

“And they miss you, little one.”

Atlas coos, as though he grows tired. “Sister,” he whispers, eyelids closing. They open again, and he looks older, more in control. “I do not want to be his puppet. Not for a second longer.”

“Brother,” she whispers in return, but he continues as though she had not spoken.

“I am tired. I want to sleep and be free of him. I know—I am hurting you, in our bodies. I know what your blood tastes like.” He quiets and looks in her eyes, and she is spellbound by the ancient knowledge she sees bubbling there, as though he is privy to all the secrets she had to be taught. “You will stop him.”

“Yes,” June swears.

“Then lay me to sleep and take what you need from me to do it,” Atlas replies, a sworn promise and an oath all in one. “Free me and stop him.”

“Atlas, if I…you may not wake up again. You may not be reborn. I am the only one of us who will live, and there is no promise others will hatch, or that we will lay eggs. If I lay you to sleep, it may be for the last time.”

Atlas sighs, a quiet thing, like he’s already dreaming. “I understand,” he replies. A breath passes. “I’m so tired.”

June lays her head back down and settles in around Atlas’ body. “Okay, little one,” she hums, holding back her grief behind a front of comfort and warmth. Her body trembles with the pain of what she knows she has to do, but she refuses to let Atlas’ last moments be tainted with even a blot of black emotion. “Close your eyes. I will hold you and you won’t feel a thing. You’ll fall asleep against the image of the stars, and you’ll be safe, and warm, and with me, forever.”

Atlas sighs and nuzzles into her. June breathes in the scent of his scales and his down-feather mane, taking a moment to memorize the sensation of his weight across her legs and his body pressed into hers.

And then, gently, she takes his mind within hers and squeezes. It takes only the slightest embrace, the smallest effort, until her brother’s mind dies between her teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i'm a thousand words over my typical chapter length, so we're stopping here. im sorry to leave you (well, Loki, specifically) hanging but thems the rules. ;)
> 
> action scenes are rough. i can't pore over this chapter any more though, so it's Happening. might edit it once we're done, who knows. two more chapters, four at a max left! they grow up so fast :') 
> 
> i know we're spending a lot of time with ocs in this fic--and the second half of this chapter especially--but thats the nature of this particular dragon au ;o also i love my dragon children and i'll Make you love them too, and thats a promise
> 
> (also i've never read the sisterhood of travelling pants novels, but i did one chapter title after them earlier so this felt Right)
> 
> anywho. i really hope you enjoyed!! we'll see what happens in the battle in the next chapter! thank you So Much for reading, i love all of you, and see you next time!


	12. The Whispering Stone Part II: The End of Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "fight," if you want to call it that, continues. 
> 
> June makes a decision. Loki's already made his, and he's not regretting it. Tony wishes someone would give him a do-over.

The pressure behind Loki’s eyes and his nose is ready to pop, his blood like the innards of a rotten fruit. Thanos is not just choking him—not just cutting off his air—he’s squeezing him like one might wring out a wet towel. Loki has known his death may come at Thanos’ hand ever since he devoted himself to revenge, but this feels a little too much. Even for him.

He can feel his eyes watering with blood when the distant face of Thanos recoils from his sight, expression darkening with shock. Suddenly, the gauntlet releases around his throat just enough that Loki’s blood rushes back to his heart and air streams into his lungs.

Gasping, Loki relishes the brief sensation of being alive, for however long he has left. His head spins with dizziness and the onslaught of oxygen. He can barely recognize what’s caused Thanos’ shock—or brief bout of mercy—until Thanos rotates his head, and Loki can see a massive body falling from the sky.

The Protector of Power falls, lifeless, through the clouds; its body plummets, wings still and buffeted by rushing air. In its lax jaws, June follows, twisting and screaming a roar so loud it pulses in Loki’s ears. Thanos watches the dragon impact the ground, spewing dust and dirt into a cloud. June’s body disappears in the brief storm, too; Loki can’t tell, with their missing bond and the dust, if she’s alive or not. She was so close to the dragon’s teeth…

“No matter,” Thanos says, even as his marked hand shakes, subtly, around Loki’s neck. “We both lose a dragon, then. No guarantee he would have survived.”

Death-terror instinctually rises in him when Thanos’ grip tightens again, squeezing his blood behind his eyes and cutting off his air. He kicks again, grasping at the cold gauntlet, trying to escape, to summon his magic—but nothing comes, his seidr cut away from him by the Soul Stone—or, perhaps the Mind Stone, he can’t tell.

Anthony is screaming, again. Loki can hear it distantly, beyond the gushing blood in his ears. He wishes Anthony didn’t have to see him die, but Loki so rarely gets what he wants. At least Anthony will not have thousands of years to carry the memory as Loki would have, if he hadn’t given Thanos the tesseract.

_At least he will live._

*

Tony fights the Mind Stone’s pull on him that keeps his body to the ground. He tears against it, screaming through the pain, just trying to reach Loki, to stand and raise his repulsor and shatter one of those _fucking_ stones or something to just get Loki _free._ Anything, just, fucking _anything_ to stop this.

He felt the dragons land, but his mind is rattling with a high-pitched ringing that’s drowning out all the other sounds in his head let alone his ears; he can barely hear his own breath over its whine. It’s almost like his mind is shackled to the ground with fish hooks and steel cords, and every time he tries to stand, the hooks tear and pull at the edges of him. Each time he pulls he rips his own mind apart, inch by inch; he can feel it bleeding, mental viscera pooling in his mouth and his throat.

He gags on it. Screams again.

He wrenches open his eyes and watches Thanos squeeze the life out of Loki, and it’s an image that he’ll carry for the rest of his life. This moment is seared into his eyes, at the epicenter of his mind. Whenever he bothers to go back to his center—if ever—he’s sure there will be a blood-stained portrait of the scene he’s looking at hung right front and center. Never to be forgotten.

And then—

And then?

Thanos winces. His gauntleted fist is shaking, subtly, and then more vigorously—like its being pulled into a magnet, against his will. Thanos’ face twists into shock, and then anger; the gauntlet is rattling like a bucket of spare parts on his hand. The force of the shaking unlocks his fingers and Loki falls, coughing and gagging, onto the ground at his feet.

_hes alive_

 Tony forces his eyes up from Loki’s red face to Thanos. He’s holding the wrist of the gauntlet, snarling. He can’t hear much more than the ringing in his ears, but he swears he can hear…singing? It’s a voice he’s heard in his dreams, or so long ago that the memory of it has faded and yellowed and curled at the edges. A memory nearly forgotten, lingering somewhere lower than the recesses of his mind—somewhere deeper. But still there, waiting, haunting, and now—singing, softly, in a language he _knows_ but doesn’t understand.

The shining yellow Mind Stone on Thanos’ gauntlet flares, bright and gleaming like a star, and then—it pulls itself free from its nook on the knuckle plating and darts away, like a bullet, into the distant cloud of dust the dragons’ bodies blew up into the air. Thanos recoils, stumbling back, the gauntlet silent and unmoving on his wrist once more—with four stones, a spot between Soul and Power now empty.

“What—” Thanos growls, making to tense his fist again, eyes on the cloud.

_June?_

There’s a deep, resonant roar building from the cloud, gaining volume and power. It pitches up into a reverberating echo, a chorus of voices, all resounding in Tony’s chest, making the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. Shivers cascade through his body as light erupts from the dust, shining, a new star born on the ground they walk. The roars grow louder as a figure breaks free from the top of the sixty-foot cloud—

and it’s not June.

Well, not _her,_ but not her body. It’s a massive, colossal dragon made of light and energy and magic, glowing bright and white like a supernova. It’s bigger than the power dragon, its wings longer and wider than the sky; it’s larger than Shi—so large, in fact, Tony has trouble comprehending it at all. His ripped and bleeding mind can only look at one spot at a time, can’t take in the entire form at once for fear of consuming himself. But it’s not June—not her physical body, not really—it’s…it’s her _soul._ It’s her spirit, the thing reborn countless times throughout the eons, the part of her that’s lived a billion times and lives again, now, with them.

And a striking circle of yellow light sits, perfect and absolute, in the center of her spiritual head, placed rightly between her arc reactor eyes. Her eyes gleam like searchlights, and wherever they gaze a beam of blue-white light falls. Now they turn and coalesce on Thanos’ meager body, miniscule compared to June.

A radiation shockwave of light passes over them, and suddenly—all at once—Tony’s mind alights with power and connection and life and love and togetherness and might and—and—

 _June._ It’s her, and it’s Loki, and it’s him—all pulled together, connected once more, their minds reaching for each other as eagerly as children separated by the fall of night. They not only connect, they all merge, the individual atoms and molecules and thoughts of their minds melting together, formless, no seams, no divisions—they are they, they are one—all together, finally, truly.

They’re connected to everything, to each other, to the billions of lives they have all lived. Memories of hatching, birth, connecting, dying—they all reach them, spinning and visible and eager to be remembered again. Tony sees every body he’s ever lived in, reflected back at him; Loki sees the same, every life, every family, every new chance; June sees each iteration of her, born to one of them. Of the countless times she’s been born, she’s always grown alongside one being, or two, but never more.

They have always been together, since the start. Since the Universe was created by the singing of six dragons with gems between their eyes. That upon life’s first breath, June fell to her first sleep and woke up in the hands of her forever-fated bonded. Tony sees the first time: sees hands that aren’t his but once were reaching out, cupping a bronze-amber egg, caressing the infant yellow-honey dragon that breaks free, its blue eyes wide and beguiling—looking over to his shoulder to see a familiar smile on an unfamiliar face—twin marks on different skins reaching out to rest against the dragon’s head—

They see everything. Every hatching, every separation, every memory. They’re all here, all forgotten—but never undone.

Loki sees his lives, all the ones he’s lived—some short, some unspeakably long, some happy, some cruel, some lonely, some full—he sees the lives in which it was only ever him and the dragon egg, him and June bonded for life, where they didn’t ever find Tony—sees when he was unfound, watching the silhouette of a dragon pass above in the sky and wondering why he was so longing, so fond—

Loki sees the image of a blue-eyed woman, standing and smiling, her hand cupping the swell of her life-giving belly; he sees his own familiar pale hands cupping her face, braiding her long peach hair; he sees her holding the swathed body of an infant, squalling and red and alive; he sees his hands holding the baby upon its feet, hears his own voice cooing, “Narfi, Narfi,” to the sweet face upturned to him, babbling; he sees his own hand push open their door, growing chilled by the dark aura of their home, ascending the stairs, stepping into the nursery and seeing the woman and the black-haired babe slaughtered in their sleep, their spilled blood brown and rotten and their skin grey and lifeless and their lives are gone, his in ruins; his rage is endless and it snaps free his mind from its settled moorings, his grief consumes him like fire, holds him timeless like ice; he sees his own hands slitting the throat of the Asgardian who dared to touch his secreted family; he sees them laid to their final rest, he sees—

The memories turn away, replaced by others. LokiJuneTony let them go, for now, but they have been seen now, no taking them away this time—

 _We keep no secrets,_ they say, but it comes mostly from Tony, from the memories of standing before a sea of people and knowing there was more to come, more dangers that they need not make more from within.

Their mind reaches out to everything, not only to memories but to the minds of those who breathe still before them; the austere one, the melted one, the consumed one who wields the voices of their siblings on his fist like they are a weapon. They reach for the latter, and take hold of his mind, so easily now—reaching out but with only the exhalation of their breath and holding him still. Where he once held power over them, in body and strength and mind, they now easily surpass him, a god to his atom.

 _“No, you don’t,”_ they say, and isolate his mind from his body, preventing him from closing his fist and pushing them away with the screams of their siblings, of the Protectors. His fist stays open, unmoving, and his eyes glow white with the power of being touched by them, by everything they are. The dragon-soul above them, filling the sky and overflowing even then, moves and twists its great head, the fog lights of its eyes still focused on him.

 _“Thanos,”_ they say, their voices ringing not only with the power but with every voice they have ever had, the voices of billions of bodies lost to time. “ _You seek the Voices of the Sowers, the Givers of Life; you seek to destroy what We created. It is as it was Crafted. We see it now, as it was, as it is, as it will be. Your choice to steal our Voices is your last.”_

They reach out, so simple, and take his mind, and rub it away. As simple and effortless as brushing away a single grain of salt; as erasing the barest of marks from a pencil. They are touched by the memories that consume him: an echoing, all-consuming hunger; a hundred dozen courtyards divided in two, one half living, one half dead; a green-skinned body, all at once small, living, broken at the base of a cliff; _hunger;_ dreams of speaking to a veiled mistress, whose hands pushed away; _hunger, HUNGER, HUNGER, **HUNGER** —_

The consumed one’s eyes flare, and then darken; his body falls, and he is gone. He is gone. They are safe.

They ache to stay together, but the power is too much. Carefully, gently, they move apart, they becoming them becoming I and him and she; Tony’s mind separates, painstakingly, from June and Loki, the atoms of their minds separated diligently, falling like sand into their own hourglasses. Careful, thorough work. But the connection between them remains, foundational, fundamental, absolute: their minds clasped at the elbows, continuous, the space between them easy and simple and vital.

Tony becomes aware of his body, slowly, as his mind separates but does not pull away from the others. His chest is filled with bubbling pain; breathing aches, stabbing behind the reactor; his vision swims. But his mind is whole and healed, the tears from fighting the stone and Thanos’ ravaging now healed. He gasps in a breath, vision darting and blurring from light and energy into simple, familiar sight.

Loki is pulling free from the trance near him, where he kneels by Thanos’ body. He’s coughing, holding his bruising and bleeding throat, but his eyes are alight and his mind is so whole and living and bright in Tony’s. The new connection is beautiful and vivid and it brings tears to Tony’s eyes as he staggers to his shaking feet and falls to his knees beside him.

Their embrace is shaking and alive and bright and sweet, and it is hot with the knowledge they may never have experienced it at all. Tony holds Loki close, mind and body, and breathes him in, loving, relishing the sensation of breath in both their bodies, of the life coursing through them. Loki holds him back, and keens through their minds, their reestablished bond that was once dust and now sings between them, stronger and more whole than before.

It’s together that they feel June’s mind, still iridescent and bright as the sun—brighter, even, blazing with a trillion memories and then some—slowly and deliberately turn away from them. The unthinkably large soul-body before them, the thing that consumes the sky and the ground and their minds, turns its head from their bodies to the sky, throat exposed, the beams of light from its eyes piercing the heavens and the void beyond.

 _June,_ Tony and Loki say, at once. They help each other to their feet, leaning on each other, their strength together; they support each other as they stagger over Thanos’ body, towards the settling plume of smoke. Tony’s having trouble breathing, his ribs grinding and his breath wet when he exhales, but Loki presses a spell into his skin that gives him strength to move. It takes them too long, tripping and bodies heavy, to reach the curled and twisted body of the dragon of Power.

Tony stops near its head, staring at its still skull and dull scales. It’s such a large body, but laying so still—dead, unbreathing—Tony has the inexplicable thought that it looks a lot younger, more delicate, more fragile than before. Where it was once a hulking beast of terror and destruction, now it is only a silent and still body, a corpse of wasted life. Tony and Loki both remember killing him between their— _no,_ this is June’s memory, it was between her teeth.

Loki says, “June.”

Tony turns his head and sees the edges of his baby girl’s wing in the mouth of this fragile dead thing. As they round its skull, they can see it more clearly: the scarred membrane torn to bloody shreds, strips of flesh ripped by overgrown and yellowed teeth.

His baby girl is laid, still and barely breathing, near the dragon’s mouth. Her mind is awake and living and nowhere near death, but her body is torn, broken—her leg bleeding, her right wing in shreds, her left broken and folded badly beneath her body, blood in her teeth. Oh, _god,_ his baby girl is hurt, she’s torn apart, and Tony can’t do anything, can’t fix it, can’t calm her, can’t…can’t…

 _June, June,_ he chants, falling to his knees beside her head, cradling her head in his hands as though she was only a baby still. Her twin eyelids flutter, pulling slow and dry against her bright eyes, still smoking or bright, mirror images of the soul-dragon above them. The Mind Stone is right between her smoking eyes, a bright and gleaming spot of power and knowledge, burning; its placement mirrors the bright spot of light upon the soul-dragon above them. As he lifts her jaw, cradles her close, she keens, a low and soft sound that is so painfully similar to the sound she made when Obie shot her and she laid across his chest, bleeding and dying.

Loki falls beside him, carrying her weight too, eyes bleeding with tears. They hold June as her mind, still bright and heavy with memories that are fading from their minds, turns further away from them; hers is so hot and hefty with the weight of a billion lives. The soul-dragon above that radiates from her body, light sparkling from her bright yellow scales.

 _She’s going to go,_ Loki says, suddenly. While their minds are not one, they can feel every intention; every secret is laid bare to them. Tony can feel how June is looking beyond them, beyond their Universe—to the place where she, her spirit, was born.

The Realm Enduring.

Memories rush through them, through the connection of their minds, of Shi’s stories, of the traditions of the Realm Enduring; how dragons were born there, the souls of each one crafted and born with care and love, sent to this place—the place June and her siblings sung into existence—to live and learn and die here. June’s knowledge of the place—of where she was born, the realm beyond their Universe, the birthplace of magic—is multiplying by the second, like she’s…like she’s there, right now—

leaving them.

“June,” he says, softly. He feels the weight of June’s mind, every memory, turn back to them, slow and deliberate. The soul-dragon’s eyes turn from the void to him, the beams of light falling upon him, warm and hot and cold and eviscerating. June’s Mind Stone flares; her eyes smoke with power, spilling fog like dry ice.

“June,” he says again, and presses his forehead, slowly, to the Stone, right between her eyes. It does not hurt him, not like before. The voice he could hear singing before whispers in his mind, then grows louder; the voice— _June’s voice—_ sings him a soft and gentle lullaby, a song of creation and thought and life.

With her voice singing in his mind, he can see the Realm Enduring, all around them. It’s not a realm like Asgard, or Earth—it’s another plane of existence, surrounding them, its substance and matter and magic woven into every atom. Tony’s shocked he could never feel it, before, brushing up against him, coiled lovingly around June’s growing and shining body. It feels—young, bright with power, calling for June.

It’s where June was made, where her soul was born. And it’s calling her now, to leave them, to rest in the place where she belongs. She’ll take the souls of every sleeping dragon left in the Universe and return them to their promised land, their messiah, their hero.

And Tony…Tony and Loki have to let her.

“Baby girl,” he whispers. June’s voice sings, softly, trilling into quiet as he speaks. “I love you. I remember everything, all our lives we spent together. It was a good ride, wasn’t it?” He laughs, wetly, tears wetting his lashes like dewdrops. “We’ve had so much time together. If it’s your time to go—for real—then you go, baby girl. You deserve it. We’ll be okay. I’ll remember you, and when I’m born again, I’ll love you then, too—even if I don’t remember, then. I’ll love you forever. And I’ll be glad that you’re happy.”

“Tony,” June says, her voice ringing from the Stone, from the magic-bright dragon that takes up the sky. When she says his name, she says every name he’s ever had all at once, her voices countless and endless, falling over languages long lost and names forgotten to time. Her eyes open, light falling from both her spirit and her body. “Love Tony.”

Tony presses closer, face twisting with the pain of a final goodbye. All the memories—the lives they’ve lived—are fading now, his mind too young and soft to hold billions of lives. But he knows the time was amazing, filled with its own troubles, pain, loneliness, but all of it _theirs._ Before, when they were parted, goodbyes were not forever—they were _until we meet again_ —but now, this goodbye is _forever,_ until the end of time. And that hurts, no matter how much Tony knows it’s the right thing to do.

He lifts his head, and Loki leans down to press his lips above the Mind Stone, curling over her head that rests in their laps. His hands rub away the blood that dribbles down her teeth, dusts away the dirt that’s crusted between her scales.

“Anthony is right,” Loki whispers, pressing his brow to hers, eyes closed, tears falling. The light of the spirit’s eyes turn to him. “We will be okay. We have been together since the start of everything. Parting now will hurt, but we will be okay. I have him, and he me; and when we part, we will find each other again, too. We will miss you, but we will always love you. _I_ will always love you.”

June keens, a soft sound that’s accented with the soft, ever-present love radiating in her incandescent mind. “Loki,” she whispers; his name rings with the trillion others he’s had, her voice lingering and echoing over each one, spoken simultaneously. “Love Loki.”

Tony bends over her again, his temple pressed to Loki’s. It’s the last moment, the last few breaths, they’ll ever have together. They’ll spend it reveling in love, not in the pain of what’s to come. Tony lingers on the happiness—playtime, falling asleep beneath the stars, pressing kisses to soft faces, joy of discovery and reunions. Loki does the same: finding a home, safety in familiar arms, magic warm and innocent between two minds.

June takes each memory, holds them close to her. And then she lets go, releasing them back. She says, to the both of them, in voice and mind, “I love you. I have always loved you. A moment will not pass when I do not think of you.”

Tony echoes the words, and Loki does, too. They’re choking on tears. The soul-dragon above pulls it eyes away from their bodies and back to the void, to the parting fabric of the Realm Enduring, where it resides beyond the heavens. Tony clutches at June, at Loki, grinding his teeth and holding on as long as he can.

June’s spirit, her attention, her mind, steps away from them, ever so slightly. Tony and Loki both gasp, hating the sensation of her leaving them. Another step does not come, not right away—June lingers in the space between, her spirit’s wings raised, eyes turned away; but she seems torn, caught between two paths. She hesitates, the stories of the End of Days rolling between them, the knowledge of her siblings, all the lives yet lived in this ever-expanding Universe she helped birth. They feel her wonder at the peace the Realm Enduring offers and wonder if it’s worth it. They feel her linger, undecided, hesitating at the fork of the road; Loki and Tony are down one path, the only one they can follow, and June stands at the crossroads, gazing down a road they cannot take.

And then—she chooses.

The spirit above her sighs, and a song so ancient and powerful and exalted rings through the air. June’s spirit turns its head away from the Realm Enduring, and its light shrinks and fades, flowing into speckles of sparkling light into June’s twisted and bleeding body. June’s mind releases all the memories of her lives to the Realm Enduring, a place of safe-keeping; she returns to her own body, her mind bright now with only the time she has spent with them. The last of the light soaks into her, brightening her scales and pulling her magic back into her eyes.

The Mind Stone releases one final song, one last note, and drops from her forehead. June takes a shuddering breath in, and when her eyes open, they are full and bright and no longer beams of light.

 _Tony,_ she whispers. _Loki._

Her eyes shut, and Tony and Loki release a sobbing-laugh, their bonded since the beginning of time at their side once more.

*

Steve Rogers finds them there, huddled over her head, some amount of time later. He’s battered and bruised, a little dirt-streaked, and nursing a broken arm. But he’s alive, and he stands still as Loki and Tony gather their control and release each other from a body-numbingly tight embrace.

“Is she okay?” he asks, tentative, like he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to ask. He can see the other dragon is dead—it’s hard not to feel the death of something so powerful—but June is hidden beneath its jaw, one of the corpse’s front legs.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, rubbing his face to dry off his chin and his cheeks. “She’s alive.”

“Her wings, Anthony,” Loki whispers. Tony glances at them both again, sick to his stomach; one is torn to pieces by the teeth of the dead dragon, and the other is crushed and broken by June’s body. He can’t look at the exposed bones for too long; the scent of her feral and ancient blood is already bringing up too many memories that might bring his lunch up if he’s not careful.

“It’s okay,” Tony replies, even though he knows it’s not. “When June wakes up, she’ll take the power of the arc reactor and heal herself.”

Loki nods, having seen-felt-experienced the memory in their time when they were whole. He eyes Tony, then, his hand still clasping Tony’s wrist. “You, however, will need immediate aid,” he says, and Tony realizes just how fucked his body is.

“Yeah,” he mutters, even as Steve Rogers comes closer, kneeling beside his tipping body. He holds him upright as Loki mutters a spell, but his hands are shaking too much to maintain the remnants of his power. “Hey, just, uh—the saddlebags. There’s a suit there. It can support me until…until we’re home. Uh, JARVIS?”

“Deploying the mark forty-eight, sir,” JARVIS replies, almost gentle. June’s saddlebags open, and a handful of Iron Man suit pieces deploy. The chest piece carefully assembles around his chest, the autonomous portions strapping around his crushed sternum before the nanotech—still volatile and in development—crawls to the spots of his injuries, supporting his ribs and his twisted-broken ankle. Tony has to tell JARVIS to let up on some of the pressure, though, since the nanites don’t seem to know how tight is compressing and how much is crushing—but overall, Tony feels like he isn’t going to fall apart if he has to stay conscious for another twenty minutes.

Loki eyes the suit and the nanites. It was his knowledge that helped Tony develop them, but they’re not magic, so naturally he’s a touch distrustful. Tony smiles at him, a quick and wobbly thing, and tells Rogers, “uh, go get Strange, and the gauntlet. Don’t touch the stones though. Get them over here and we’ll get home. Somehow.”

“Sure,” Rogers replies, standing and retreating only after Tony doesn’t immediately collapse when his hand stops supporting him. Tony returns to June, who is still unconscious, but alive, her mind thrumming with sleep and distant pain. Loki does, too, unwilling to move too far away from her after the brief moment of near total separation.

“The Realm Enduring,” Tony muses, softly. Now that he knows it’s there, he swears he can feel it still, lingering, like a soft pressure against the hair on his arms, a tickling at the back of his neck.

“It’s where magic is born,” Loki replies, in a similar voice. “Yggdrasil is watered by it. The World Tree grows upon the Realm Enduring’s soil. We are blessed to have seen it so.”

Tony agrees, soft. His eyes flutter, briefly, but Loki’s hands keep him awake and upright. Tony turns a dopey smile to him, his bare hand coming to gently brush against the deep-blood bruise forming on Loki’s neck.

Loki’s hand meets his, taking it up to his lips. His eyes are bloodshot and wet, but he’s _alive._

“We did it,” Tony whispers, leaning closer to press his forehead to Loki’s, June’s head upon both their laps. “We did it,” he repeats, wetter, finally allowing the truth to wash over him.

“We are free,” Loki replies, almost a whimper, but more a sound of victory.

*

Strange portals them home—with some trouble, unfortunately—but they manage to hold still as a portal appears below their bodies and drops them into the penthouse of Stark Tower. June doesn’t wake, but her bones make some ugly sounds when she lands. It was barely a foot drop, but Tony still winces at the cracks.

Strange and Rogers fall onto their asses, thoroughly wiped out, staring at each other. Tony waves his hand in the general direction of the elevator. “Find a room, get cleaned up,” he says, vaguely. “JARVIS, get them a room?”

“Yes, sir. Dr. Strange, Mr. Rogers, if you would enter the elevator?”

“Thank you, Stark,” Strange replies, rubbing his head. He hands the gauntlet with the four infinity stones to Loki, who stares at it like it’s a venomous animal before folding it away into his pocket dimension or whatever. The Mind Stone is already there, tucked away from any prying eyes or sorcerer’s interest.

The two disappear into the elevator, battered and bruised but alive. The word rings around in Tony’s head, like a run-away marble: _alive, alive, alive._ He’d been sure, once their connection was torn asunder, they wouldn’t have made it.

But they did. All of them.

“Thank god,” he says, falling forward to rest on June’s head again. He lays there for a moment, soaking up her mind and Loki’s, before he groans and forces himself back up.

“Okay,” he says, mind firming with the need to make a plan and put it into action. He looks over June again, her broken body. “Let’s fix this.”

*

They remove June’s armor, once piece at a time, painstakingly careful around her wounds and her wings. Loki pulls the energy from the Iron Mage gauntlets and the spells he crafted into the Dragon armor to lift June’s body up with a levitation spell, so Tony can slowly and delicately unfold her torn-up wings to lay flat on the ground.

All spread out, they’re even worse.

The right wing has three fractures along the wing radius and humerus—the two bones that are closest to June’s shoulder—and twenty-two individual holes within the entire flight membrane, thirteen of which are tears longer than nine inches. The left wing has eleven individual fractures along the radius, humerus, and wing phalanges; two of the breaks are serious compound fractures that expose the bone to air. Three of the sections of bone are practically crushed to dust. With the breaks as bad as they are, the left-wing membrane hasn’t received any oxygenated blood for nearly twenty minutes. The membrane is graying, and when pinched, it stays peaked like non-hydrated skin.

Loki pales as JARVIS relates the damage, his fingers shaking as he pets her uninjured leg. Tony has to sit down, briefly, as he contemplates what to do. He, JARVIS, and Loki are basically the only experts on dragon biology, so there’s no expert to consult beyond them. JARVIS can do research on similar animals and injuries, but there’s no precedent for an animal with two out of six limbs broken so severely; some incidents require amputation, others let the animal heal on their own, to varying degrees of recovery.

Tony knows June’s healing factor is on par with Loki’s, what with her magic; he knows she’s healed from cuts in her wing membrane in three weeks, but those were even tears when she was still young and growing at an astonishing rate. Her growth has slowed considerably since she turned four, but it hasn’t halted entirely. Tony’s never had to deal with her breaking any bones, let alone her delicate wings.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses to Loki as he wraps the final compound fracture on the left wing as much as he can. The membrane gets in the way, but he can stopper the bleeding while they make a plan.

Loki shakes his head. “I do not know, either,” he replies, hesitating. “This seems…too much to heal.”

Tony shudders out a sigh. “I know,” he whispers. This kind of damage isn’t fixable, not if you want to survive. “But I can’t…not without her knowing.”

Loki presses his hands to June’s scales, sighing. He and Tony both reach forward, tugging on June’s mind slowly, carefully, to rouse her. They hate to pull her from a well-deserved rest, let alone from an unconscious healing trance, but they need her permission—need to tell her what’s going on.

Slowly, June’s mind wakes; her eyes open, drowsily. Her body trembles finely with pain, and Loki immediately takes some of the sensation into his own skull, away from her. Tony watches him pale and shake with it, grinding his teeth, but it gives June a moment to clear her mind and breathe, eyes clearing.

“Hey, baby girl,” Tony whispers, cupping her jaw, rubbing the gleaming yellow spot between her eyes where the Mind Stone sat. “We’re back home. We’re all safe. You with us?”

 _Yes, Tony,_ she whispers, and her voice is so young that it sends him careening back to when she was just hatched, speaking his name for the first time. How far they’ve come.

“Good,” he coos, comforting her as much as he can. “We’re sorry to wake you up, but we’ve got to talk. Your wings, baby girl, they’re not in good shape. You’re bleeding still and we can’t do anything about it. Do you have any memories, anything of Shi’s, that can tell us what to do?”

June sighs, breathing in a deep and sparking breath; Tony’s arc reactor sparks and hums beneath the half nanotech suit. Her wounds do not close; the power seems to fuel her mind, make her more awake. She breathes in again and Tony feels dizzy, briefly, and he suddenly realizes that June is taking the power of the reactor and pushing it into _him,_ healing his wounds. His ribs tighten and warm before releasing their tension; his sternum briefly cracks before knitting together around the reactor casing. Near her wing, Loki keens as his bruised and tattered throat heals.

“Baby girl,” he whispers, wrecked.

 _Tony,_ she repeats, drowsily. Her eyelids close and open again, tongue lolling. _No healing,_ she says. _Wings…delicate. Can’t fix._ A dozen memories melt between them; dragons with missing parts, some with one wing, others with none, flightless creatures protected by the clan.

Tony tries to hurry, to save Loki the pain he’s taking on, but he has to know June understands what she’s saying. “If I can’t fix them, I have to…to take them off, baby girl. The whole way. Both of them. You hear what I’m saying?”

 _Yes, Tony,_ she whispers. _No wings…easy choice. I can…stay. With you two. I do not…need to fly._

Loki lets out a wounded sound, echoed by Tony. Tony presses his head to her snout, and whispers, _okay, baby girl. We love you. We love you. Go back to sleep._

 _Love Tony,_ she whispers, falling back under. _Love Loki._

*

Tony steps away from June. He disengages the armor that’s still compressing now-healed ribs. He reaches for a towel and wipes June’s blood and the pieces of her splintered bone from his shaking hands. He stands in the middle of the penthouse, lost, staring at what he’s done to his baby girl.

June’s amputation sites are stitched and half-healed with a half dozen magic poultices. There are two closed, linear four-foot wounds where he removed the wing membrane from its connection to her back on either side of her spine. A dozen scales that he pried from her skin to reach the membrane sites are piled next to the folded remains of her wings.

Loki stands, reaches out to him, stepping close, his body an anchor—a lighthouse—to Tony’s mislaid direction. Tony looks up at him, in his eyes, and starts to cry.

Loki pulls Tony in, holds his face against his shoulder, fingers carding through dusty hair. They stay like that, clinging and silent, until Tony’s tears stop and he can pull away with only a red face and wet eyes. Tony pulls Loki down and kisses him, holding his jaw close, trying to replace the taste of ash and blood in his mouth with something familiar, with something alive and full of promise for another day.

For a better day.

Loki lets him. When they pull away, his cheeks are wet with twin, streaking lines. Tony wipes them dry and takes his hand, leads him to the bathroom. Together, they strip without fanfare, with barely a glance. Sharing a shower without fucking is definitely a new experience for Tony, but he doesn’t think he could get it up if he even wanted to. He can’t bare to have Loki out of his sight for even a second—if he is, his brain will try to convince him he’s dead.

Being pressed against his body, alive and warm, is helping keep the fears at bay. It keeps the baying hounds away, locked behind Tony’s will to be okay, to survive this, to know that one day he’ll be able to kiss Loki without thinking of the one they shared when they both thought they were going to die. Without thinking of watching Loki die, of feeling absolutely alone for the first time.

Loki does the same. He stays close, and his fingers brush against Tony’s skin whenever Loki’s head turns away, a connection that promises Tony won’t disappear when he’s in the fringes of Loki’s peripherals. He keeps the circuit closed, always touching, always in sight, sloughing off the dust of Titan and the pain of victory, trying to do the same to the memories they found there—but the images linger, bright and painful, no matter how close they press against each other, no matter how deeply they breathe.

*

When June wakes, it is slowly. She ascends through layers of darkness and weight, shaking off ancient dreams that are not her own. She comes to the awareness of her body slowly, taking in the aches and bruises and distant, throbbing pains; as she opens her eyes, she feels a distant gratitude to have a body at all.

The first thing she sees is Tony and Loki, close by, sprawled upon a white couch. They’re asleep, tucked into each other; Tony is laid across Loki’s chest, both of their faces turned towards her. They’re in clean clothes, hair dried from a recent washing, safe in each other’s arms. Their minds are lax and warm against June’s, the connections deep in her mind—linked directly to her center.

June examines the feeling, sensing the fundamental placement of the new bonds forged under the weight and heat of all their lives. Those memories are distant now, like ancient dreams. But the bond remains: all of them connected in the center of their beings, vital and forever.

It feels right.

Careful not to wake her bonded, June sighs and shifts. They deserve the sleep as much as anyone. Their memories of the fight are bright and battle-forged, sitting heavy between them all. Both were nearly killed by Thanos, nearly watched the other die. They need the time to reestablish themselves with each other.

Shuffling, June realizes she can’t feel her wings. She pauses, and slowly, delicately, lifts her heavy head and turns it to her shoulders. There, she finds not her wings—strong from years of flight, scarred from their first escape—but foot-long stumps, the roots of her wings, swathed in bandages. The memory of their conversation— _I’ll have to take them off; both of them—_ rushes to the forefront of her mind.

June allows herself only a moment of mourning. She is saddened by the loss—of course she is, she is a creature of the sky and the wind—but she knew this was a possibility when she turned away from the Realm Enduring and decided to stay in the Universe, with her bonded, and her siblings, and the Children. She had known that when Atlas bit through her wing it was lost to her. But losing Atlas—relieving him of his suffering—is one of the reasons she turned her back to returning home.

Her duty is to the Children, the three eggs that reside in Tony’s workshop, asleep and ready to hatch. It is her duty to find the others, the Protectors, and keep them safe from suffering, the likes of which Atlas endured.

And she will do it, with wings her no. Sighing, June turns away from her missing limbs and lays her head back down, tempted back to sleep. It will take time to heal—for all of them to heal—but they are alive, and for that, she is grateful.

*

When they all wake, together, they all curl on the floor, silently weeping. Loki and Tony press against her chest, and June aches for her wings to shield them, to enclose them all in a warm and silent cocoon.

June doesn’t say, _I cannot protect you two anymore._

Tony doesn’t say, _this is all my fault._

Loki doesn’t say, _if I had never come here, you two would be safe._

*

The Infinity Gauntlet is frightening to look at, for a multitude of reasons. The first, mainly, is that it is the icon of the greatest evil any of them will probably ever face in their lives; second, naturally, is that it is the thing that nearly choked the life out of Loki; third, finally, is that it now represents a heavy responsibility for the three of them.

They have five out of six Infinity Stones sitting before them, twinkling and whispering to each other. They know where the sixth is.

“We are the most powerful people in the universe,” Loki says, his eyes skating across the golden fingers and the stones still held in the sockets on the knuckles.

June hasn’t looked away from the Mind Stone since they unfolded the things from Loki’s pocket dimension. She hasn’t gone haywire, but her attention is solely focused on the stone.

“Do you know what havoc we could wreak?” Loki continues, softer and steadier, like steel. “Imagine the chaos we could sow. The problems we could solve.” He pauses. “The good we could do.”

“If we start thinking like that,” Tony replies, saliva stuck in his throat, “we’re gonna end up thinking genocide is an attractive option before long.”

Loki acquiesces easily, his mind pulling back from the potential that sits before them.

June says, _we have to keep them close._ The stumps of her wings twitch, as though she meant to shift her wings. Loki and Tony both wince. _If we—I—ever lay eggs, my siblings will be born to the dragon closest to their stone. Atlas may…_

June had told them about Atlas. About the torture he underwent at Thanos’ hand, how he was young, how he decided to die and never be reborn than stay a puppet a minute longer. They understand, easily, her need to keep his stone close—in the event of a miracle.

“Okay. So, we keep them close for now. Somewhere safe. And then when everyone’s born, we hide them.”

“Where do you suggest we keep them for now?” Loki asks, with little heat. “The tower?”

“Hell no,” Tony replies, indignant. “I don’t want these things anywhere near me, no offense, June. What about your pocket dimension?”

“I should not be the only one with access to the stones,” Loki says, after a hesitation. He sounds like it’s hard to admit, pulled from him like teeth. “I am…selfish.”

 _In a good way,_ June qualifies. Her approval of Loki’s submission to Thanos to save Tony’s life radiates from her. It is a decision that Loki, too, finds hard to regret. _But you are right._

“Perhaps…” Loki muses, biting his lower lip before nodding. “Yes, perhaps. I may be able to…fashion a spell that will create a dimension that can only be accessed by the three of us at once.”

“Three key holders,” Tony interrupts. “All of us have to have our hands on the button to open it.”

“Yes,” Loki agrees. “That way they will be safe, even from ourselves.” He rubs his chin, his mouth splintering into something that’s hard to read—not quite self-loathing, not quite pride. “It will take me some time. But I can do it.”

*

Tony watches June take her first steps since he amputated her wings with terror-guilt-pain. His baby girl is like a hatchling again, staggering on trembling limbs and shivering with the shock of a new world. The bandaged nubs of her flight limbs tremble from motor memory, struggling to adjust to her new weight distribution. June’s mind is firm with determination, though, so when she finally manages to get her feet under her, she stays there.

And then she walks. Slowly, occasionally needing to stop or lean against a wall, but she does. Loki stays nearby, replenishing magic at the ready to catch her if she falls; Tony stays close, too, hovering by her side as though he could hope to stop her from falling.

June dips her head to nudge at them both, rumbling a pleased sound at her progress. They acknowledge it and let her chase away a small amount of the total guilt they feel. They all know it wasn’t anyone’s fault she’s wingless, but Tony and Loki still hold deep regret in grounding her so young. And they’ll hold it for a long time—forever.

Tony’s keeping the ideas of nanotech and an adjusted Iron Dragon armor to himself, tucked deep away into his center, amongst the dozens of pieces of plans he keeps nestled on the shelves. June and Loki politely do not go looking at what he stores there, despite the intimate new placement of their bonds that give them all access to each other’s centers.

The first place June goes is the workshop. She lays down in the elevator Tony had built for her, breathing deep and slow, but gets up once JARVIS opens the doors; she staggers, slowly, into the room. Both Tony and Loki follow as she makes her way to the incubator and the three eggs there, tucked into the water and against each other.

June lays down around it, sighing. She settles in and rests her head against the warm glass, dwarfing its size. The eggs are smaller than her eyes.

 _When I was welcomed back to the Realm Enduring,_ June says, suddenly, as both Tony and Loki settle in against her belly, holding each other close. _The Others there gave me a gift._

She pauses, backtracks. _They were the cause of the Vanishing; the Others disappeared for a time. Their absence, and the absence of their magic, killed thousands of our eggs at once, as the Realm Enduring faded from our reach. The Others wished to undo their mistake and they…they gave me a blessing._

She hesitates, staring into the incubator. They feel her mind move towards them, caressing the edges of the dragons’ sleeping minds, their magic burning warm and steady. After a moment, she continues, softer than before.

_All high dragons require a telepathic connection to their fated rider to hatch. I was lucky to fall into either of your hands at all. We do not have that luck now, while we linger on the verge of extinction. The Others gave me the ability to form a telepathic connection with any egg I encounter, so the dragon within may hatch whenever they are ready._

_June_ , Tony whispers, in shock. He twists his body to stare at the eggs, still whole, but suddenly filled with more life than before.

 _I can feel them,_ June returns, allowing both Loki and Tony to feel the thread-thin connection forming between her and the three eggs—peach, red, and pearlescent strings, bright and alive and connected to the root of her. _They will hatch, someday. When they are ready._

 _A blessing indeed,_ Loki whispers. He lifts his hand and presses it against the glass, over the image of sleeping eggs. _We will protect them, if they are born to you._

 _Born to us,_ June corrects, sure. _And we will. We defeated Thanos. We will protect them with our lives._

 _With our lives and more,_ Tony agrees, firm and quiet. Loki and June echo the sentiment, and they swear over the new, infant bonds in their minds they will do anything to protect the life that swims only inches from the surface.

*

Loki completes his spell. Together, the three of them sit around the gauntlet and five Infinity Stones and reach their minds forward.

They all utter the spell, and power rushes through them. Invisible runes flare bright around their hands as the gauntlet and the stones fold away into a bright space beyond them, tucked away into the safekeeping of three sets of hands. Tony’s been calling it, lovingly, the Vault.

 _We can never bring them out again,_ Tony says, and his voice is iron, will indomitable. _Not for anything. We can never use them. We protect them, we hatch their protectors, and then we hide them._

*

June stares over the New York skyline, laid across the balcony. Her tail flicks over the edge, lazily, but she feels untethered without her wings. For the first time in her life, she’s scared of the height—scared of slipping over the edge and falling with no way to stop. It’s the sensation of clinging to Tony’s back while he flies in his first second-skin, of letting go, but with no exhilaration, no safe landing.

Loki finds her there. He sits on the edge and presses against her shoulder, careful of the still-healing stumps of her wings and her sore muscles. June relishes the touch, briefly trying to remember every life they spent together before allowing them to slip away. She’s been tentative in reaching for the Realm Enduring, for the memories she knows reside there—hoping not to tempt the Others she heard there to ask her to come back again.

Eventually, Loki tentatively shows her the memory of the peach-haired woman and the emerald-eyed babe he’s clung to since their minds became one. The details have faded, but the image of their faces have stayed, burned, into his mind’s eye.

 _Ah,_ June whispers, turning the image over in her mind before giving it back to him.

 _This is what you took,_ he says. He’s not angry—he just…wants to know. The emotions of the memories feel distant to him, like they’re not even his. But he knows Sigyn’s face, remembers the day they married—remembers the day he burned her body on the edge of Alfheim’s wooded ocean. June only took his son and the memory of their murders from him, all that time ago.

 _Yes,_ June replies, soft. She doesn’t give him more.

 _Narfi,_ he whispers, reverent. He can see his son perfectly before him, but it doesn’t feel like his memory anymore. It feels like…they’re part of a different life, one of the billions he’s had with June and Tony. His, but indistinct.

 _You were unmoored by their loss,_ June says, after a moment. The memory of their disconnection rises—how it felt to be apart—before she speaks again. _An Asgardian you knew found where you hid them, in Alfheim._

 _Baldur,_ Loki mutters, the name rising in his mind. He remembers Baldur, his envy. He was born to Odin but had no claim to the throne, having been born in wedlock—oh, how _desperately_ he had wanted the throne. Now with the image of Narfi’s gentle face in the picture, it makes perfect sense to him that Baldur murdered them; Narfi jumped ahead of Baldur’s claim to the throne by the possession of Loki’s blood. A child of a prince is a king before the bastard son of the monarch.

The returned memory of murdering his adopted half-brother makes him smile.

After some time spent in silence, Loki asks, _does this break the deal we made?_

 _I don’t know,_ June replies, softly. She truly doesn’t.

Loki considers the deal, as she explained it to him. June’s being would forfeit to him, if their oath is considered broken—Loki could ask June of anything, could control her magic, her memories. The idea of governing and hurting her that way makes his skin crawl with the sensation of phantom insects. She has already lost her wings, her freedom, her birthright—how could he dare to contemplate collecting on her broken promise?

He considers the memory of his long-dead son, and his beloved wife. He feels the rage and the madness of losing them once more, like ice in his veins. He considers June, his love of Anthony, and all that they’ve gone through. All that June has sacrificed for them and their lives together. He thinks about love that becomes so heavy that it mutates into a burden. He thinks about memories, and lives forgotten, and happiness for the ones you love when they live on, without you.

 _Take them back,_ Loki whispers. He leans against June, lets his head fall upon her scales, eyes closed. _I’m giving you my consent to take the memories of my son and my wife again. Our deal will remain unbroken._

June presses her head against him, folded back to enfold him in an embrace. She takes a deep breath, and Loki only feels her as she reaches into his mind, the softest and kindest touch. He falls asleep against her, calm and whole once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmm. i've got no snappy vine reference to put here, this chapter just made me sad. rip narfi
> 
> next chapter: epilogue. :') 
> 
> also, i'm joining the Iron Man Big Bang, [found here.](https://ironmanbigbang.tumblr.com/) Join if you're interested as an author or an artist! keep a look out for the posting of all the submissions in may :D
> 
> thank you, everyone, for the support and the tears and the love! it's amazing to see anyone enjoying this work, let alone everyone of you that comes back chapter after chapter. i really do appreciate the love and the time you guys take to read this. love you all, and see you next time! xxxxx


	13. Cloudberry's Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June, Tony, and Loki meet someone new, invent some new sweet-ass shit, and struggle to adjust to a Universe that doesn’t have Thanos in it.

_Wake up! Loki, Loki, wake up!_

Loki shoots awake, scrambling up to his elbows. The room is dark, illuminated only by the distant lights of the city below, sparkling on the dark glass to his right; as he sits up, heart beating in his throat—all he can see is the red blur of magic the last time he was woken so suddenly, the manifestation curdling in Anthony’s mind—

“Loki!” Anthony’s face appears before him, wide and open and radiant. He’s grinning, leaning down on the bed on his palms; he’s barely dressed, hair mussed and stuck up on his right side. Loki glances around the room, taking it in, acknowledging the changes since he fell asleep—it’s three in the morning, so two hours have passed; Anthony’s worn shirt (the one without arms that he favors) is missing from the floor, now back on his body; Anthony himself, who had been drooling on his pillow when Loki fell asleep, knocked out by June’s soft touch after a nightmare, is now leaning over Loki’s side, practically vibrating.

“Anthony?” he replies, garbled, as he struggles to find balance between fear and anger. “What’s wrong, what’s happened? Was it a nightmare?”

“Loki,” Anthony repeats, eyes shining, ignoring him completely—it’s the first time since Thanos that Loki has seen him smile, and Loki is caught breathless by its luster—“one of the eggs _._ It’s _hatching_.”

Loki bolts upright, wide awake. He comes face to face with Anthony, noses nearly touching. “Right now?”

Anthony grins, wider, and he looks beatific in the lowlight of their room. “ _Right_ now.”

*

As the sun rises above the New York horizon, three bodies huddle around a lurching peach colored egg that they’ve nestled in the curled fabrics of a stolen city flag, a dark tank top, and an emerald green scarf. Three sets of eyes watch as a large section of the egg breaks free, and from it crawls Earth’s second dragon.

She’s a small thing—even smaller than June had been—but the differences don’t end there. She has the overall appearance of a peach, with orange scales glinting in shades of carnelian-pink-citrus; the puff of wet feathers atop her head, like a cockatoo’s crest, certainly doesn’t dissuade the look of the fuzzy fruit, either. Her wings, when they pull free from the shell, are not at all like June’s: they’re feathered with wet down, like a baby bird’s, pink flesh beneath the down vulnerable and soft. Brown scales tighten and fold around her tiny little feet that make them look like a bird of prey. As she frees her whole body, she looks more avian than she does draconic.

But there’s no mistaking the mental burn of magic, or the hum of exhaustion-hunger-life in the back of their minds.

Tony looks up at smiles at Loki’s wonder-lax face. He gestures to the baby with his chin as he carefully removes the shell pieces from her nest that smells like the three of them. “Go ahead, Loki.”

He looks up, eyes wide. “Me?”

“Yeah, babe. I’ve had my turn.”

Loki blinks and licks his lips, uncertain. But he does reach out, tentative, and gently touches the mess of feathers atop its head. The dragon jerks and makes a soft chirping sound, immediately pressing up for warmth. Loki’s face and mind melt with that instantaneous love of meeting a baby dragon for the first time, of feeling her mind, of feeling her seek for your touch.

No new mark appears on his skin, but the dragon’s mind is warm and soft and gentle, like the rolling tide beneath the moon. It’s enough—more than enough.

And so, the Protector of Soul is born again.

*

Tony’s crashing through about three layers of déjà vu as he rouses from the workshop and finds Loki asleep on the penthouse floor, surrounded by soft blankets and ancient books, with June laying nearby. He goes to shift one of the blankets over him when he sees peach—well, Loki’s been calling her _cloudberry,_ but Tony refuses to liken their newest dragon to a berry since she obviously looks more like a fucking _peach,_ thank you very much, what with her citrus underbelly plating and the orange gemstone scales—curled up against his ribs, napping.

Tony coos, almost instinctively. June cracks open one eye and her amusement warms his mind as she catches him gently stroking peach’s cockatoo crest, the tips of the feathers tinging a lighter orange as they’ve dried overnight.

 _She is quiet,_ June observes, watching her sister make a soft sound at Tony’s touch and burrow deeper into Loki’s side. Their bonded shifts his hand closer to her, cupping her into his body like a cradle, still fast asleep.

 _You were too,_ Tony replies, sitting back on his haunches as he watches them, knowing his expression is far too soft to let anyone beyond this room ever catch sight of it, lest his reputation. _You slept for days after you hatched._

_You would think, after sleeping for so long, we would not be so tired._

_You’ve said it yourself,_ Tony replies, smiling, _hatching is exhausting._

June agrees, lowering her head. Tony catches sight of her wingless back and swallows, turning away, burning guilt working its way up his throat like stomach acid. He pushes the feeling away from the place where peach’s connection has spooled in their shared space, the warm light place that stretches between their centers. He won’t have her touched by any of their exceptionally heavy baggage until she can talk, at least.

Silently, June offers him a memory: cloudy and blurry, but darkness eventually opening to the sight of Tony’s own face, five years younger, curled with sleep; surrounded by warmth and a familiar warm song from his heart; curling closer into the warmth with comfort-safety-home a familiar lullaby in her chest.

Tony smiles without meaning to, but it’s not only nostalgia that rises with June’s first memory of falling asleep at his side; sadness comes too, for time lost, for how things have changed. Melancholy for the outcome of his mistakes.

He stands and goes to her and settles in against her lowered head. Her head is longer than his body, now, but he still wraps his arm around her as much as he can, guiding her to rest on his lap, against his ribs. June purrs, distant and deep, and settles into sleep.

Tony doesn’t.

*

Time passes.

Peach is a wonder to be around. She’s quiet and inquisitive but sticks to Loki like glue, like June did to him after Afghanistan. Tony’s timetable of June’s growth is sort of a guide that she seems to follow, too; two days after hatching, her eyes open to reveal entirely black irises and pupils, shining in dozens of different reflective colors in white light, like black opals.

(Loki coos, rubbing at her jaw the first time she opens her eyes, murmuring in a language Tony doesn’t understand; Tony says, “now aren’t those a pair of lookers, sweetheart?” Peach seems interested by the attention and immediately goes to examine them both, sniffing and looking and crawling on Loki’s chest while he lays down by her nest)

Three weeks after her eyes open, dark brown horns pierce through the nubs on her head and curl up and outwards, like a rearing snake above her skull. They’re smooth and boney, framing her shedding crest of feathers.

(June licks the sluggish bleeding clean, soothing the hatchling with memories of when her own antlers poked free, of when the velvet sheds every handful of years, leaving her itchy and her antlers thick upon her skull)

A little less than a month after she’s born, her mental connection warms with complex emotions. Tony rejoices, throwing her up lightly in the air with her nearly grown-in wings flapping happily, while June huffs with humor nearby.

(Interest-warmth-curiosity when she presses her face to the penthouse glass, taking in the city below with her black eyes, soaking it in without fear; rejoicing-kindness-familiarity when she meets Pepper, whose hair is the same color as peach’s feathers; sadness-forlorn-weariness when Loki world-walks away after hearing a rumor Thor survived his encounter with Thanos; fear-petrification-melancholy when Tony wakes gasping from nightmares about dead dragons, dead lovers, and a planet that exists in tones of orange and yellow and decay; terror-despair-guilt when she witnesses a bad episode of June’s phantom limb syndrome, the dragon yowling and wailing from pain that twists bones and muscles that aren’t attached to her anymore, writhing on the floor while Tony kneads the healed lines of her amputations and Loki hustles peach away, tuning out June’s pain from her mind but it’s too late, she’s felt the anguish in all of them, tasted the guilt that eats away at their souls, seen the tears that streak down both of her pseudo-riders’ faces)

(It takes them a week to realize that the nights they see peach’s black eyes brighten with a dozen shades in starlight are the nights none of them have nightmares, and they have a conversation beyond her about how to teach a nonverbal dragon hatchling that using her assumed powers over souls isn’t okay yet, even if Tony, Loki, and June get more sleep in that week than they’ve gotten in the past two months)

Tony’s timetable gets shaken up around five months, when June had started speaking, but peach remains nonverbal despite her emotional intelligence and the complexity of her feelings. She does, however, grow in a lovely set of tawny-orange-ginger feathers on her wings that can lift her from the ground in a brief flutter, well over eight months before June could even get off the ground.

(Loki catches peach jumping from June’s raised head, one day, and nearly has a heart-attack that burns  through their connections like fire, but it jolts away when peach glides to the couch instead of falling straight down, chirruping and chittering like a pleased little bird, and Tony catches Loki smothering her in kisses between excited coos of, “my little cloudberry, so talented, you are _magnificent_ ”)

Time goes on.

*

Strange examines his sparking portal, making sure he was able to reach the desired place, and nods. “Since you are certain you wish to return,” he says, gesturing towards it magnanimously. “I’ll maintain it, so you’re not stuck there.”

“Thanks, doc,” Tony says, swallowing. He eyes the place he sees in his nightmares and nods, bracing himself, and steps through. The heat hits him first, and then the smell, overwhelming him briefly with images of Loki getting choked, of the moon falling down, of the sensation of abandonment.

Loki takes his hand, and Tony sucks in a deep breath. Peach, perching on Loki’s shoulders, makes a comforting sound and travels from Loki to Tony, wrapping her feather-tipped tail around one of his biceps. Her nose flares at the different scents of Titan, black eyes round and open in her sharp skull, but her mind is studiously calm.

She’s untouched by this place. Tony loathes to bring her here, to the place she’s no doubt seen in their nightmares, but June insisted.

Speaking of, June steps through the portal, huffing as she squeezes her hind legs through. She shakes her body like a dog, but it’s an aborted movement without her wings to shiver and shake free of the dust that’s settling around them.

Tony peers back through the portal, and Strange is still there, watching them. He raises a gloved hand and nods, so Tony returns the gesture and follows June as she walks past them, towards the battleground.

Titan doesn’t look any different than it did five months ago. Still dead, dusty, and filled with skeletons in proverbial closets. As they walk the grounds, they reexamine the places where they fought—scorch marks, almost hidden by dirt, from asteroids of Titan’s destroyed moon; an Iron Man helmet, crushed on one side, nestled by scrap parts from a destroyed spaceship; the shattered pieces of glass from the tesseract’s casing—and move past them, without lingering too long.

June picks through the battlefield with care, but she doesn’t pause—her pace is steady, and the rest of them hurry their steps to keep up with her. She rounds a fallen chunk of moon and approaches the decaying body of her brother.

Tony stays back, away from the rotting skeleton. Under Titan’s sun, Atlas is barely more than bones now, but the smell still lingers, even here. Loki nods at him and approaches June, where she has stopped by Atlas’ skull, his yellowed teeth still stained with June’s blood, barely visible.

Peach sends them all an inquisitive feeling that Tony translates as _is this someone I know? Is this family?_

June fills their connections with a silent memory of an amaranthine-amethyst dragon with wide bumblebee eyes, staring up with a sliver of a pink tongue peeking between front teeth. Then another, of the same little dragon curled between June’s front legs and the sensation of peace, of chrysalism. Another: the tiny body leaping to a porthole window in a spaceship, falling asleep with his padded feet pressed against the glass, his rest forever protected by the blue eyes reflected above him.

 _Little one, this is Atlas,_ June says, motioning both towards the memory and towards the skeleton before her. _He was…_ she hesitates. They’ve been discussing, at length, if they should tell peach—and the dragon that hatches from the Reality egg—that they’re technically June’s siblings and that they’re Infinity Dragons. It’s a complicated subject, especially since peach concluded that June was her older sister all on her own about three months ago, but with none of the connotation that she knows anything about the stones or past lives.

 _He was our brother,_ she finally says, muting the parts of their minds that know about the Infinity Dragons, the Realm Enduring, and their continuous cycle of rebirth.

Peach chirps, but her feathered crest is pressed against her head, fawn ears tucked back, her mind bubbling up with mourning-understanding-sadness. Eventually, she sends them another emotion, an inquisition of knowledge-musing-how.

June’s ears flatten as the three of them translate peach’s wordless question. Tony briefly winces as Loki turns away, hiding his face from peach’s keen eyes as he runs his hand tentatively down Atlas’ bony remnants of his twisted ram’s horns. Behind the privacy screen they’ve erected between peach and the rest of them—established after they felt her benevolently rooting around in Loki’s memories while he was sleeping—Tony says, _tell her whatever you want, June. It’s your call._

June turns to them, and then back to Atlas. She lays her head upon his skull and says, _he made a sacrifice, for all of us._

Tony nods, slightly, to himself. Peach is way too young to understand why June made the choice she did, let alone the circumstances surrounding the whole thing. Tony understands it, but he keeps his feelings firmly pushed away from them all so he doesn’t accidently hurt June with his personal morals. It’s not the time and it’s certainly not his place to argue how hatchlings Atlas’ age have no capacity to be truly informed of that kind of choice.

After a moment longer lingering by his body, June lifts her head and backs away. Loki raises his arms and casts a levitation spell that lifts June from the ground and raises her thirty feet up; from her perch, June summons her fire and encases Atlas’ bones in its heat. Tony takes a step back, shielding peach slightly from the heat, but he keeps his eyes firmly on the ritual.

It takes ten minutes to burn every last bone. Loki’s arms are shaking as June swallows the last of her fire, eyes burning with power, when he finally sets June down on the ground. As the embers cool finally cool, they approach the ashes in silence. Loki does the honors of reaching down to collect a pile of the ashes and rubs a streak down June’s head, between her eyes; he draws similar lines down the bridges of his and Tony’s nose, and upon a quiet request, thumbs a final smear down peach’s sharp face.

The stay for a while longer, watching Titan winds pick up Atlas’ ashes and lift him in the air, vanishing on the breeze. Then they turn back and head for home.

They leave Thanos’ skeleton unburnt and untouched.

*

Tony locks himself in his workshop once June falls asleep after her worst bout of phantom limb pain to date.

He stays there for six days. Loki brings him food, but he’s never permitted to stay. Peach wriggles her way down on the seventh day and falls asleep on Tony’s keyboard, her silent attempt to force him to sleep.

Tony carefully deposits her in her fabric nest and keeps working.

*

Loki wakes when he feels Anthony crawl into bed. Loki gently turns onto his side, careful to not jostle cloudberry where she’s curled between them. Anthony curls on his side, mirroring him, his eyes heavy and bloodshot as they fall on the sleeping dragon.

Loki reaches out and takes his hand that rests between them. Anthony’s fingers briefly tighten around his and then loosen as his whole body seems to drain of energy.

“I have to figure it out,” Anthony whispers, weakly, knowing cloudberry won’t wake to a verbal conversation. “I _have_ to.”

“Let me help,” Loki murmurs, readjusting his head so they’re closer together, ankles carefully interlocking with Anthony’s. “Anthony, please. It is not your burden alone.”

His eyes squeeze shut, but he’s too exhausted to do anything more. “I cut them off, Loki. I did that to her. _I did it._ I know I had to, I know there wasn’t any other choice—but it was _me._ When she tore her wings in Afghanistan, I told her we’d be okay. I told her I’d keep her safe. She trusted me. And I did this to her.”

Loki tightens his grip. “It wasn’t only you. I was there. I broke the bone where you needed to cut with my own hands. I pried her scales from her skin. I spread my poultices on the stitches, I healed her with my magic. It was _us,_ beloved. It was us. Let me help you.”

Anthony sighs, and it’s overflowing with melancholy and self-loathing and deep, black guilt.

“Okay,” he concedes, so quiet Loki can barely hear him. “Okay.”

*

Steve Rogers asks, “is…June around?”

Tony Stark gestures vaguely upwards. He’s examining the hole a HYDRA operative put through Steve’s improved battle suit with an accusatory, tired eye. “She’s on the balcony. Try not to spook her. How the _fuck_ did you do this? I’ve reinforced this fucking thing _three times…”_

Steve nods letting Tony rant to himself as he exits the workshop Loki directed him to earlier, ascending back to the penthouse. Tony had graciously offered a floor of the Tower for him and the other members of the near-Avengers before the whole Thanos thing, but when Steve had caught sight of June’s still and menacing reflection in the glass during that particular meeting, he’d immediately declined.

Normally, Steve would let Tony do his thing and he’d avoid June with every ounce of his willpower, but with Tony demanding to do personal repairs and improvements on Steve’s gear, he knows he can’t let this discomfort between the Stark dragon and him remain. He and Tony—he and Loki, even—may become close allies after surviving Thanos, so Steve is willing to make whatever amends he needs to, to make it work.

He does, indeed, find June on the balcony, laid out on the concrete, head lowered past the edge. Loki and the baby dragon he’d heard about on the news are nowhere to be seen. Steve takes a moment to examine her new silhouette—she looks so much smaller without her bronze wings—before he knocks on the glass.

June’s head lifts and turns to him, eyeing him shrewdly. Although she doesn’t have human facial expressions, he can almost see her distaste.

“Hi,” he says, waving awkwardly before stepping forward. “Can I…join you?”

June stares at him a moment longer, then tosses her head. Steve takes that as a yes—or, at least, not a no—and approaches, settles in on the edge of the balcony, several feet away from her.

“So, look,” Steve says, sighing, “I know that you don’t like me. But we fought together on Titan, and I’m sure we’ll fight together in the future sometime. If I did anything to offend you, or said something, please just let me know so I can fix whatever I’m doing wrong? I know you don’t like me very much, but I’m trying to…work with Tony. And Loki. I want us to get along. If that’s alright.”

June’s head tilts, her ears flicked towards him, but she doesn’t level that impressive gaze on him again. Her tail flicks, agitated, behind her. The words sit heavy in the air, and June lets them fester, obviously uninterested in making this easy.

Steve’s about to give up and cut his losses when he feels that familiar, heavy weight settle at the side of his mind, like an approaching, apocalyptic migraine.

 _You are right,_ her voice says, devoid of warmth and feeling. _I do not like you. From the first moment I laid my eyes on you, I made the decision not to trust you._

“Why?” Steve asks, careful, but also a little hurt. “Was it something I did…because I was fighting Loki?”

 _No._ Her head swivels towards him. Her antlers swing above him, and if her head were any lower, the impressive tines would have clocked him clear off his ass. _But I have a—gift, in reading people. I have since the first time I saw one of Tony’s only allies as an enemy. Tony did not see that truth until this ally shot me in the chest and tried to kill him._

Steve winces. He’d read the one line in Tony’s file about Obadiah Stane, but the way June says it, he can feel an entire planet’s weight worth of a story behind the words. “I’m not Tony’s enemy, though—I’m not _your_ enemy. I’d never hurt either of you.”

 _You say that,_ June muses, but without…feeling. Her voice is so odd, in the way that it’s English words, with obvious emotion behind them, but there’s something missing from her mind entirely, like she’s cold-blooded or something. Nonhuman. Steve can’t put his finger on it beyond that; all he knows is that her voice in his head still sends shivers up his skin. _And yet, your loyalty has a price._

June lowers her head, now, and looks him dead in the eye. Hers are so bright and cold that it makes Steve clench his jaw and his fists in an attempt to control the instinctive, hindbrain fear she’s sparking up in him.

_There is something in this world that you would pay anything for. I have seen that so clearly from the beginning it may as well be printed upon your skin. You would sacrifice anything—your morals, your standing, your name, your friends—for it._

Her voice darkens. _You would not hesitate to harm my riders if it meant you were returned James Buchanan Barnes._

Steve jerks, scrabbling away from her. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, and the sensation of Bucky’s fingertips sliding through his sends cold shock up his arm. “What? How the—what do you mean? Bucky is—I saw him fall…”

June tosses her head, and Steve reads a certain amount of meanness in the motion, a carelessness with his feelings or his heart.

 _I do not mean to say I disapprove of your willingness to do anything for this man,_ she continues, as though she’s entirely uninterested in his absolute shock in hearing Bucky’s name, seventy years after he’s died. _I, in fact, feel the same for my riders, and they for me. However, you understand that I dislike the trait when it is my beloved that would be sacrificed, rather than sacrificed for._

“I don’t—Bucky is _dead,_ June. How could I—I can’t ever have him back, I know that. I lost him already.”

There’s a buzzing noise in his head. He winces, swatting at his ear as though it was a bug hovering in his eardrum that made the sound and not June’s mind. _Did you?_

Steve swallows. His throat is dry, his heart pounding there. “Did I what?”

 _Lose him. You are certain?_ She turns her dark eye on him again. _Have you not seen his shadow cross your path when your turn your back? Heard his voice in a crowded place? Seen his face upon a…certain video?_

“I don’t…that wasn’t…it…”

 _Of course I know that you are hiding it from him. You discovered the truth of the deaths of Tony’s parents eight months ago, and you decided the secret was better kept from the man who could sic his dragon upon the messenger._ The stumps of her wings shudder, and then, _I do not appreciate you making decisions for him. For us. So, no, Steve Rogers, I do not like you. I do not trust you._

She jabs his quivering abdomen with her snout. He stumbles, shocked by the strength behind the brief dig; he doesn’t dare retaliate. _Stay away from us. If you drag us into your pathetic crusade against this…HYDRA, I will tear your Bucky Barnes into pieces right before your eyes. And then I will do the same to you._

“That wasn’t Bucky,” he whispers, clenching his teeth. “Howard and his wife were assassinated, yeah, keeping that secret was wrong of me, but it _wasn’t Bucky._ He’s dead, June. Been dead for seventy years.”

June snorts and pulls away from him, clearly disbelieving, and that sends hope and pain careening through his entire body. She lays her head down upon her forepaws, a clear dismissal. _You have heard my piece. Do hurry on your way out._

*

When Loki asks, “What did the Captain wish to speak to you about?” later that night, June replies, _nothing of importance._

*

Tony wakes up from a powernap after another workshop binge and finds peach laying on his chest, examining his arc reactor.

At nearly seven months, she’s nearly five feet long, which is a foot and a half shorter than June at the same age. He’s surprised her weight hadn’t woken him up, but then again, he’s slept through Loki doing the same thing, so maybe it shouldn’t be too surprising.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, ruffling her crest. The tips of her feathers are tinging into the same hue of light citrus orange that color her underbelly plates; the base of the feathers melt into the deeper, brighter carnelian, like the shade of her scales. Peach’s crest puffs up, interested and curious, as her black opal eyes reflect the blue light from the reactor.

“Hear it?” he hums, letting his hand fall from her head to the side of her neck, scratching idly at the shedding scales. “Your big sister always said it sung her to sleep. You hear the same thing?”

Peach doesn’t reply. Instead, she lays her head down on it and does, indeed, fall to sleep with its electrical hum right beneath her jaw. Tony smiles, nostalgic and melancholic all in one, and shifts his arm that’s fallen asleep behind his head. Before he can fall back asleep, Loki appears from the forge, smiling briefly at them. He comes closer, sitting on the free sliver of the couch, and gently rubs his hand down her spine.

Tony yawns, letting Loki take over petting her. He distantly feels Loki’s mind turn over an often-thought question—almost shining from how often it’s been handled—and then carefully push it to seam of his lips.

“Are you…” Loki pauses, and then continues, softer than before. “Do you feel any…sadness, that she prefers me?”

Tony cracks a smile without opening his eyes. “You asking if I’m jealous, babe?”

Loki huffs, quietly. “I am trying to be delicate.”

He lets the smile pull at his face for a moment longer before it naturally fades. “Nah, I’m not jealous. I had June all to myself for two years. I’m just happy you get to experience this now, too. Even if it’s not the same.”

“Do you not want to experience it again?”

Tony hesitates, but figures he doesn’t really want to keep secrets from Loki anymore. He reaches into his center, where he hides his secret, hurtful feelings that he knows would pain Loki and June to feel. He doesn’t hide much from them, but he hides enough to keep them all on stable ground. He pushes his reasoning and his pain forward just enough for Loki to feel it, trembling finely, in their personal bond.

Loki’s breath catches, softly.

Tony shrugs, careful not to dislodge peach, and pulls the irrational feelings back and tucks them away once more. “I don’t deserve it,” he elaborates, since sharing feelings is all well and good, but he needs to be concise about this—as much as he can be. “I had it once, and I fucked it up. Fucked June up. I know—I know, Loki, look. I know it’s not my fault that she’s wingless, but she’s my baby girl. I can’t help how I feel. And I can’t…I don’t want to…get too close to peach and hurt her, too.”

He smiles, wryly, belying an aching canyon of pain. “I don’t think my heart could take it, you know?”

“Anthony,” Loki whispers, wrecked. He leans down, over peach’s sleeping body, and presses his lips to Tony’s forehead, his nose, his lips. “Oh, Anthony. Why do you make yourself suffer so?”

Tony sighs, deep. “I don’t know,” he replies, thickly. “I don’t…I just…”

“Shh,” Loki hushes, feeling the turmoil and anguish that resides, like a dark lake, at the bottom of Anthony’s mind. A still and storm-battered pool of grief that threatens to overwhelm him if the tide comes in. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. Your suffering is close to its end.”

*

Tony bends down so he can rub his hands along June’s jaw. Her eyelids blink open, watching him. “Ready, baby girl?”

 _Yes, Tony,_ she says, confident and calm. Her tail shifts slightly, hanging off the edge of the work table he built to support her weight. He presses a kiss to the scales beside her eye, holding onto one of the lower tines of her antlers for balance. He straightens to let Loki take his place, his hands gleaming with whiteish light.

“You will feel very tired, kusymre,” he says, letting the light soak into June’s eyes. “Do not fight it. When you wake, we will be here, at your side.”

 _And I_ _will be safe, and warm, and with...you…forever…_

Loki holds her for a moment longer as they feel her mind go heavy and lax with sleep. He straightens and nods.

Tony cracks his knuckles. “It’s time to fix this.”

*

June wakes slowly, feeling heavy and dream-drowsy. Her body is pleasantly pain free, an unusual occurrence in the recent months; even her shoulders, which ache so often, only feel as sore as she may have once after a long flight.

She swallows, eyelids peeling open. Lights and shapes dance before her, melted together. She feels a touch on her mind, and she allows it to help her wake further, tugging her towards the surface of consciousness. It takes a moment, but eventually, her sight clears, and Tony and Loki stand before her, grinning as she wakes.

“Hey there, baby girl,” Tony says, his smile melting into something genuine, brighter than she has seen since Titan. “How you feeling?”

 _I feel…well,_ she answers, slowly. _Is it done?_

“Yes,” Loki answers, smiling at her as well, his eyes crinkled kindly. The little one is perched on his shoulders, wings fluttering. She chirrups happily when she sees June blink up at her, crest feathers catching against the sides of her horns. “When you are ready, roll onto your stomach.”

June takes her time, despite her desire to see the outcome of her riders’ minds immediately. Loki’s magic, while not the same as hers, still can disorient her into deep and dreamless sleep. He doesn’t touch her mind the same way she can with her powers, but the result is the same: a thick mind, a sleepy tongue, and a roiling stomach.

Eventually, June rocks onto her belly, folding her legs beneath her, settled in. Her back feels—heavier, but not in pain, or with metal like the armor.

“Drop the mirrors, JARVIS,” Tony says, face illuminated by his light screen that hovers midair before him.

Around the table, screens descend, and June can look right in front of her and see her own body from both the top and profile. There are newly healed incisions along the scarred lines where were membrane attached, and a kind of silvery sleeve around both thick stumps of wing. She twitches them, but her movement isn’t impaired by their tightness. Loki approaches and attaches several cords and ropes to the sleeves, testing each before moving on; he gently bats the little one’s interested, gnawing mouth away from the enticing playthings more than once.

Tony inputs something into his light once Loki retreats. “Here we go.”

On either side of June, the cords and open tubes darken with substance. June twitches as she feels more weight and pressure tighten around her wing remnants, and as she watches, dark bronze-black material—like Tony’s second-skins—seems to form and coalesce around her body. The dark metal grows and forms upon itself, stretching into long lines and then filling in the extra spaces between. Between one minute and the next, June becomes a winged dragon once more.

The dark wings are in the exact shape as her biological wings, down to the light lines that mimic her first flight scars. They are made with the same stuff as Tony’s second-skins, his suits of armor, but the metal is smoother, lighter. They weigh no more than her born wings did. They are colored the same as the saddle he made for her: dark lines of brown with accents of deep bronze and gold. She turns, wide-eyed and mind-open, to Tony.

 _Tony!_ Her voice rings with exaltation. Her rider beams, eyes shining.

“Go on, baby girl,” Tony laughs, wetly. “Move them for us!”

 _Me?_ Her mind tightens on the word, shocked. _They are not yours to control?_

“Me? Fuck no, honey! They’re all yours.”

“That is my doing,” Loki intercedes, smiling wide. The little one chirps happily at the joy flowing easily around them. “I forged the implants in your back and wings with magic and buried an enchantment deep into their cores. It will ensure your magic will recognize these wings as yours, always.”

“You should be able to move them just like your old wings,” Tony agrees. “Just…reach for them.”

The sound that escapes June’s throat is as much of a keen as it is a squeal of excitement and surprise. June concentrates, and as Tony instructed, reaches for her magic and the new enchantment beneath her skin. It takes a moment of meditation, but she can feel the pulse of the magic there, and—and—

Her wings move, widening, shifting in place. Astonishment-happiness-joy rings from June as she feels the pleasant and missed weight on her back move to her whim. The connection place where the metal touches her skin does not even hurt, does not pinch—it is perfect, absolute and stunning.

 _Tony!_ She cries, moving them again, folding and unfolding. It’s clunky movement, like Tony in his first armor, but it is movement nonetheless. _Loki!_

Tony laughs, and Loki reaches for him, clinging to each other through teary laughter. June moves her head and reaches for them, and the little one immediately flutters down to her, landing on her head and chirping excitedly. She climbs up into June’s right antler, perching there, cheeping, mind warm with vicarious pleasure. Loki and Tony both laugh, reaching for her too.

“You know the best part, baby girl?” Tony asks, his face cracked wide with a smile. “This is nanotech. Usually, we’d have to top you up to keep the wings growing with you, but Loki managed this _sweet_ self-replication spell that’ll do it for you. There’s no outside power source, no arc reactor, no maintenance. If we did this right, these wings will grow with you until you’re a hundred billion years old. Long after the both of us…aren’t here anymore to do it.”

 _Truly?_ June crows, excited beyond measure.

“Truly,” Loki agrees, pressing his forehead to Anthony’s and his head to June’s cheek. “I tied the enchantments to your magic. Because you have a limitless source from the…realm beyond, you will never feel the strain. They will grow with you as easily as your living wings.”

 _My riders, my forever-bonded,_ June whimpers, wriggling closer to feel them both, eyelids closing with delight and wonder and pride for them, _in_ them, for accomplishing this great thing for her. _I have always known you talented, known you capable of great things—but this—I cannot thank you enough…_

Tony leans his head down and kisses the mark the Mind Stone made in her forehead. _No thanks necessary,_ he whispers to her. She closes her eyes and feels as small as the little one, safe and warm against him. _I took your wings away. It was only right that I give them back._

 _Thank you,_ she whispers, not knowing what else to say. Her metal wings flare, gleaming in the light of the forge and the workshop. _Thank you._

*

June stares up at the sky above the tower.

“I will catch you,” Loki is saying, from where he stands beside her. “You will not fall, I swear it.”

 _I trust you,_ she replies, simply. She tentatively raises her new metal wings. She cannot feel them, not like she could her living wings, but she can tell where they end and begin with her magic, can feel the feedback of the wind pull at the stumps within the metal casing. Slowly, she beats her wings, almost unfamiliar with the movement. Nothing but air moves from the action.

 _It has been so long,_ she admits to Loki, and then tries again. It’s odd, trying to fly without feeling it, but with another, deeper flap, she feels that familiar, lovely weightlessness, her limbs loose against the ground. Excited, she beats Tony’s wings once more, and leaves the ground for the first time in over nine months.

“ _Yeah!”_ she hears Tony’s voice ring, in mind and mouth, from the roof above. “ _Fuck yeah, June! You’re doing awesome! That’s it, baby girl!”_

June roars, delight crashing through her body. She lifts higher, the metal and magic carrying her into the air. Below her, Loki makes an excited whooping noise, ecstatic at her progress.

June rises to the roof, wings beating, and all of New York hears her triumphant voice.

*

Loki finds cloudberry perched on the top of Loki’s bookshelf, nose darkened with dust.

He laughs at her expression and opens his arms. “Come down, then, little one. June has returned from her first solitary flight and we are celebrating.”

Cloudberry’s ears perk at June’s name, and she excitedly flutters down into Loki’s arms. He clasps her to his chest, almost too large to carry—he knows the day she becomes to heavy for him is the day he will weep, but now he relishes the chance to carry her—and walks with her into the penthouse floor.

He sets her down on the ground near June, who is positively beaming, her brown-bronze wings gleaming in the setting sun beside them. Anthony’s laughter is ringing through the room as she knocks him around a bit with her nose, roughhousing gently with his smaller body.

They spend the afternoon together, their minds bright with happiness and renewed life. Loki and Anthony share a drink, keeping it away from cloudberry’s too-inquisitive tongue with deep laughter; June recounts the sensations of flying again, sharing with them the handful of issues she ran into that were but eclipsed by the joys of returning to the sky. Cloudberry climbs into June’s antlers to groom, tugging and biting at shedding feathers.

Night begins to fall as cloudberry descends from her perch and crawls into Loki’s lap. Her head twists up to him, basking in the comforting scratches he’s rubbing into her ribs. Her black opal eyes shine in the light, wide and reflective and seeking.

As conversation fades, Loki smiles down at her, stroking her feathers as she continues to watch him.

_Váli._

Loki chokes on his breath, shocked. Both Anthony and June whip their heads towards them, eyes wide and minds still with surprise and growing delight.

“Sweetheart…” Anthony whispers, eyes widening and smile growing without pause.

Cloudberry continues to stare into Loki’s eyes. _Váli,_ she repeats, and her voice is wonderous: ancient and reflective, like gently struck glass, an endless note ringing in ancient caverns. It pulls on the strings of his soul and echoes in the cavern of his mind, a singing voice upon a quiet ocean, a song beneath the waves.

June’s great head lowers, and her eyes are so blue as she says, _we are very pleased to meet you, Váli._

Loki cannot look away from her black opal eyes. He sees every color shining there, reflective like a gemstone with an infinite number of facets, gleaming like she can see the world in a thousand different ways.

“Loki,” Anthony whispers, soft. “Honey, you’re crying.”

He feels Anthony’s hand touch his cheek, and his fingers come away wet. Loki blinks his eyes and reaches up himself, wiping away one streak only to be met with two more falling streams. He says, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It is…”

Váli stares up at him, and then presses her pointed snout to his throat, eyes closing.  Loki embraces her, and presses his cheek against the crest of feathers, avoiding her pointed horns, tightening his arms and his legs around her as though he couldn’t bare to ever let go. He hears June and Tony share a brief conversation, muffled to him, but he doesn’t have the mind to eavesdrop.

“I am not sad,” he whispers, even as his eyes overflow with tears. “I can’t seem to stop…”

“You don’t have to,” Anthony whispers, and comes closer, pressing an easy and comforting kiss to Loki’s temple, smoothing his hair down. “It’s okay. We’re…we’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

 _Yes,_ June whispers, and comes closer, nose resting upon his and Anthony’s knees, touching Váli’s curled back legs. Her metal wings rise from her sides and encase them all in a cocoon of magic and engineering and inherent protection. _We are going to be okay._

*

 ** _All whispers  know  where  whispers  go  and  lusters  where  with_** __  
**lusters flow, and when your palm is in my palm, just as my poem**  
There  is   a  sparkling   tone  to  how  you   speak,   ** _is  in  your  poem,  look_** __  
a   quickness   to   your   whisper,   an   implied ** _at   this   stellar,  cellular,_** __  
correctness   in   your   ironies.   We   stride ** _organic   life   of   mine,   the_** __  
along   emphatic   benches   in   the   weak ** _general  and  particular,  the_** __  
light   bristling   eloquent   dark.  Pine,   elm  and  oak ** _gross  (as  well   as_** __  
fall  silent  now  to  hear  you  tell  a  joke— ** _fine)  intentions  I  epitomize._** __  
something  about  a  man  and  a   mandrake; ** _Look,  seeing  through  its_** __  
I think  it  cute  and  laugh  like  Captain  Drake. ** _thin disguise the bleary_** __  
We  then  explore  the  vagaries  of  light ** _sky  whose   weepy  eyes  have_** __  
found  underfoot  by  lamps,  and  kiss.  “Beatrix, ** _rained   us  a  surprise._** __  
will    you   still   need   me  when   I’m   thirty-six?" ** _A    lightning    bolt’s_** __  
You   favorably   mumble  that  you  might, ** _protruding  hand  snatched_** __  
and  throw  a  willing  arm  around  my  nape. ** _past us,  far and brief and_** __  
I reassure you that there’s no escape. ** _as  I  hold  you  in  my  arms,  you_** __  
**fill me with belief. Don’t wonder if and how, much  stranger  than**  
**right now, the  hyacinth of  sorrow may blossom  forth tomorrow.**

\- Philip Nikolayev, “A Midsummer’s Night Stroll” from _Letters from Aldenderry_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> also, the poem is capital W Wonky in mobile, sorry y'all. 
> 
> what a ride y'all :') thanks for reading and I SUPER enjoyed having you on the journey with me and everything. thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think (good, bad, or indifferent!) in the comments! 
> 
> I'm plotting out a sequel As We Speak, but if you're interested in requesting missing scenes from this story that you wanted to see, come over to my [tumblr](http://advisedpanic.tumblr.com/) and ask! I love to write this shit and if I get a handful of asks, I'll make a Collection story here to post them. I know there are a lot of options to chose from since this story whipped through a little under five years in 13 chapters, but hey, that's how I like to write! don't be shy :D
> 
> I'm starting my final semester at college soon, however, so it might be a little while until I get the sequel out. since i'm also doing the Iron Man Big Bang and NaNoWriMo on top of it, i might be a little busy. BUT i always get shit done 
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know, the reason Loki is reacting as he did to Vali's name is because Vali and Narfi are the sons he mythically (and in some comics) had with Sigyn. Here, he and Sigyn only had Narfi before latter two were killed, but some intrinsic part of him recognizes that Vali was the name he and Sigyn had chosen for their next child. He doesn't remember it bc June took the memories away again.
> 
> and that's all folks! thank you again for everything, and i hope i did these characters justice. come talk to me if you want (i'd love to hear from you!) and be on the lookout for the eventual sequel to this little chestnut. love you all xxxx


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